


Playing With Fire

by actionpackedlips



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Identity Reveal, M/M, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 36,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22768219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actionpackedlips/pseuds/actionpackedlips
Summary: Peter Parker knows, after Karen so helpfully pulls Deadpool's files for him, that he's playing with fire in regards to the Merc who keeps showing up to team up. But, if Peter is honest with himself, he's always liked to play with fire.(NOT ABANDONED- updates to resume in February)
Relationships: Deadpool/Spider-man, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 164
Kudos: 630
Collections: Isn't it Bromantic?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, after reading what feels like every fic my eyes could devour, I'm trying my hand at a story of my own. I have very limited knowledge of the comics, so these two are set more in the movie verse. Both Deadpool movies have taken place, but I've kept it to only Homecoming for Peter. He's aged to a senior in highschool, so it begins with him underage but he's 18 before anything happens. Just in case I get some hate, cause apparently that happens? Starts with M for general Deadpool mouth and shenanigans but will be E before end. Only beta'd by me! Let me know if you find anything needing fixed, but otherwise enjoy! Let me know what you think, and I'll update soon.

“Hey! Hey- _hey Webs!”_

A little past one in the morning found Peter swinging through two buildings that had seen better days. Having just wrapped up a boozy altercation between a few people outside a club, he was slowly making his circle around the city tighter until finally ending up home for the night. Perhaps a little earlier than planned, but it _had_ been an overall quiet night. Nothing had taken more than ten minutes to wrap up with either a few stern words or an anonymous tip to the police. He wouldn’t have gone as far as to say it was a _boring_ night but, well. Okay, he could admit he’d seen more thrilling episodes of _Cops_ then what the evening had been unraveling into so far. He always felt guilty for that line of thinking, never wanting to will that kind of stuff into existence but. He couldn’t exactly be the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man if all he was doing was walking little old ladies across crosswalks and helping people find their lost pets. The _Boy Scouts_ could get those jobs done, you know? 

So, while he’d normally be weary of a voice shouting and yelling for his attention as he swung by this time at night, his head perked up and he did a perhaps completely-unnecessary-but-still-cool-as-heck flip up onto the top of a tall building; hands already tingling with the anticipation of what was to come. Maybe it was a new villain… Should he call Mr. Stark? He’d already texted Happy a few times tonight, just to keep him updated, and somewhere deep inside he still wanted to prove he could handle things like this himself. No. He’d see what this person wanted and go from there.

“Karen,” he whispered as he saw the figure down below start to make their way up the creaking fire escape, “turn on facial and voice recognition.” He’d found out a while ago that she had access to not only local and federal databases but _Shield_ files, too. So cool!

“Of course, Peter. Would you like me to display the results for you on screen, or hold them for viewing later?”

He bit his lip, thinking, “Keep them offscreen, but turn on recording for this encounter.”

“Alright, Peter. Your view is being recorded and can be accessed at any time afterward.”

Grateful, he thanked her. He was so glad to have her with him in times like this. Since tweaking his suit a few years ago, and getting more use to fighting with all the features it brought, he relied on her probably more than he liked to admit.

“You’re welcome, Peter.” 

While the figure took their time to climb the building, Peter paced around trying out different poses. Intimidating? He crossed his arms and straightened his back. No, no. He’d tried that out in the mirror and he looked like a total tool.

Unfazed? He leaned up against an old rusted air conditioning unit. A piece broke off under his arm. Oops, that wasn’t gonna work.

He looked around, back facing towards the edge the man was climbing up, hands up in thought. 

A low whistle startled him out of his thoughts, and he jumped. He hadn’t expected them to make it up the building that fast! Plus, he hadn't even gotten his... _Peter-tingle_. Way to let a guy down! 

He turned around to see a black and red clad man laying on his side along the roofs parapet, head propped up by a hand as he eyed Peter through the mask he wore. Peter could only tell because the mask’s white eyes seemed to move and shift as if real. How in the-

“Wow. I mean first that flip and then _dat ass,_ color me impressed already and we haven't even been properly introduced!”

Peter eyed the many weapons strapped to the body before him, and took a hesitant step back. Maybe he should call Mr. Stark…

“Def. makes it worth all that climbing for sure!” 

Peter, mentally struggling on what to do, kept quiet.

The man sat up from his position to sit properly on the ledge, hand outstretched towards Peter, “Name’s Wade, AKA Deadpool, absolute pleasure to finally see you swinging on by!”

“Karen…” Peter called to her with uncertainty. A guy named Deadpool couldn’t possibly be anything but a villian right? But he hadn’t ever had a villain introduce themselves until _after_ the mayhem had already begun. Maybe this was a new wave of villains? Politely introduce yourself to your opponent before vowing to take them down?

The man, Deadpool, tilted his head puzzlingly. “Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?” Karen replied dutifully inside Peter’s suit.

“I-” 

“A Spider _-Man_ named Karen, hmmm,” Deadpool’s extended handshake forgotten as he moved said hand to grip his chin in a considering motion.

He seemed to take a moment of deliberation before shrugging and saying, “Not my place to judge. You youngin’s certainly like to keep us old timers on our toes, don’tcha?”

Peter shook his head, to get himself out of the slightly fear-induced haze and in regards to Deadpool's statement.

The man hadn’t even done anything to him yet and he was quaking in his boots. No wonder Mr. Stark didn’t want to take him on missions, and had given him a suit with baby monitoring software. If he wanted to be a hero, he had to act like a hero.

He cleared his throat, deeping his voice just a bit, “No. Not Karen, just Spider-Man.”

He took the few steps forward to close the distance between them and extend his own hand in greeting.

Deadpool clasped it, hand nearly engulfing Peter’s, and shook, chuckling, “Nice to meet you, Just Spider-Man.”

They dropped hands, and Peter fidgeted slightly. He wasn’t usually this close to people he wasn’t either fighting or saving while wearing the suit. It always made him itch when he was, like whoever it was would hear his voice or see his posture and _just know_ somehow who he was. It probably stemmed from all the close calls of saving his friends and school-mates. It was obviously a pretty preposterous thought right now. This man could never guess who he was, let alone that he was an almost-graduated senior in highschool. 

“Sooooo” Deadpool’s leather creaked where he rocked back and forth on the ledge, “are you in that fancy boy band?”

Peter’s confusion intensified. This had to be the weirdest thing that's happened to Peter in a while, and that was counting _being bitten by a radioactive spider._

“Uh, boy band, sir?”

Deadpool turned to look behind him as if looking for someone before pointing to himself, “Me? Sir? OH boy, you're cute. You can call me alotta stuff Spidey but I am no sir, that’s for sure.”

He seemed to chuckle softly to himself and Peter silently cursed Aunt May for his ingrained manners.

“I mean the A-holes, the Avengers?” Deadpool clarified, “No offense.” He tacked on quickly.

“Uh, none taken. And I mean,” did he admit he wasn’t and seem weak? Or fib and at least make this guy think twice before trying anything else?

“Basically,” he settled on. What Deadpool didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him right?”

All of a sudden a large squeal came from the gigantic man seated before him.

“Oh em gee! I’ve always wanted to meet a bon-a-fied Avenger. I’m only stuck with the goody two-shoes X-men. Or at least two of them, cause no one else seems to be around when my plot plays out!”

Peter, slowly getting used to being confused at this point, blushed underneath the mask at the man's reaction. He seemed a second or two away from asking for an autograph, and wouldn’t _that_ just be a kick to the teeth when Mr. Stark came by asking why someone named Deadpool was saying he’d been hanging around an Avenger. 

“Mostly,” Peter interjected Deadpool’s continued babbling, “I do my own thing, ya know.”

He gestured into the night at the stretch of buildings around them, “Around the city.”

Wade nodded rather enthusiastically, “I get that, I _totally_ get that. I’m usually a loner, too. Well, not totally lonely when I got my gals here.” He gestured to the katana’s Peter could see strapped to his back. Did he actually _use_ them, or were they just for overall appearance? They certainly did the job at making him look even more intimidating. 

Later, looking back on this footage and reading up on the files Karen had downloaded for him, he would redden mortifyingly at such a naive thought. Anyone brandishing Katanas with the word Dead in their name were certainly not only using them for aesthetics!

“But,” Deadpool rambled on, “After two full movies involving team-ups, I’m starting to see the appeal. Sometimes it’s just nice to know someone's got your back, right?”

Peter, recalling that very thought in regards to Karen this evening, couldn’t help his nod in agreement. As he’d realized being Spider-Man would only get more risky as his reputation grew, he became more grateful for Karen being in his ear. She was only ever a word away, and was able to call for backup at the first sign of distress. It wasn’t always needed, but it was reassuring none-the-less.

Deadpool’s eyes scrunched up as if he was smiling widely, “I’m glad we’re in agreement, baby boy, cause let me tell you New York can be a lonely place.”

Peter’s face heated at the random nickname, warmth spreading along his chest in a funny tight feeling. 

He opened his mouth to rebuke the remark, he was Spider- _Man,_ thank you very much.

But Deadpool took that moment to stand up. Peter’s gaze went up, and up...and up. Boy, was he tall. Of course Peter noticed his buff physique even while sitting. His shoulders were so wide and his arms so thick he wasn’t entirely sure that suit wasn’t padded, but while sitting he hadn’t been able to get a reading on his height, like, at all. But standing… Deadpool towered over Peter as he stepped forward to slap a hand down on his shoulder.

“I’d be nice to team up with someone other than the X-douches every once in a while. I’ll keep a look out for that tush swinging on by,” his mask winked, _winked_ , “I’ve never been afraid of spiders.”

With that, he turned and took a running leap off the building. 

Peter, heart seizing, choked on a noise and rushed to the edge of the building, instinctually raising a wrist to activate his web shooter. 

He heard more than saw the sound of flesh and bone meeting concrete. There were no unbroken or functioning street lamps in this part of town, so he used his suits night vision function and steeled himself for what he was about to see down below.

“ _FUCK_ superhero landings,” his enchanced hearing picked up the mans muttering, before watching him simply limp off down the alley, rounding the corner and out of sight. 

Peter found himself collapsing, back scraping against the building's ledge. His heart was pounding and a huge gust of breath released from his lungs as if he hadn’t taken a single breath since the beginning of the encounter.

“Peter?” the AI’s voice was soft in his ears, bringing him back from his spike of panic. 

“Y-yes, Karen?”

“I think you should take a look at those files now.”

He took a steadying breath, and in the dark on top of a nearly dilapidated building in Queens, he said, “Pull them up.”


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a Saturday night when Deadpool had introduced himself to Peter, so he wouldn’t get a chance to go out and meet him, if he even decided to, until Friday evening. After Aunt May had found out about him being Spider-Man, after explaining to her that yes, he’d really been the one on the news all those times, and yes, he really was fine; after cursing and stomping around the kitchen (she always was a stress eater) she sat him down and laid out some ground rules.

“Not on school nights.” 

His jaw dropped in shock, “What?! Aunt May, No!”

He may not have stayed out much on school nights, even skipping some guiltily altogether to hang with Ned, but he always did a few hours worth of a sweep and kept an ear out. Crime didn’t stop just because he had school in the morning!

“Do you want to interrupt me again? Cause I’ll shut this shit right down.” Her raised eyebrows and pursed lips kept him quiet but still simmering through the rest of her rules.

“I want to know the truth, _always,_ ” and her eyes ducked to meet his, “I’m serious, Peter. No more lies, no more fibs, especially of the secret superhero variety.”

He nodded, lips shut tight against further outburst.

“Next, I want to know who’s helping you. You’re the smartest kid this side of Queens, Peter, but even I know you’re shit with a needle. Someone had to have helped you make your suit.” 

Peter exhaled through his nose. Great, as if Mr. Stark didn’t treat him like a big enough kid, he was going to have to talk to his aunt! In that moment, embarrassment shining through about having to discuss this with Tony Stark of all people, his mind had completely blanked on Happy. He hadn’t even thought about Happy and May meeting, let alone what their introduction could and would evidently lead to.

“And lastly,” she smiled hesitantly, “be safe. _Please_ be safe, Peter. Use your smarts and those new powers to realise when something is too big for you to handle. I may not have had time to google all the news stories you’re in, but I’ve seen enough.”

She reached out to lay a hand on his. 

“You’re fifteen, honey. Every fifteen year old wants to be a part of something big. Just because you get to help save the world doesn’t mean it’s always your responsibility.”

At that, Peter tensed, and couldn’t keep himself from muttering.

“What was that, honey?” 

“I said, Uncle Ben didn’t think so.”

She gripped his hand a little harder, “What do you mean?”

“He always said great power comes with great responsibility. And I-” He choked up, not wanting to admit the next part to her.

Bless Aunt May’s soul, though, she’d always been able to read between his lines.

She was out of her seat and rushing to wrap him into a firm embrace almost too quick for his senses to warn him. He was still seated, but he was pressed to her stomach with her arms wrapped around him to rest along his back.

“Oh, honey. What happened to Ben wasn’t your fault. Don’t go saving New York just because-”

“It was!” he cried, arms coming up to wrap around her waist and bury his face in her shirt.

“If I hadn’t-” he continued brokenly, but Aunt May just squeezed him tighter.

“Peter Benjamin Parker.” Aunt May crouched down to his level, and wiped a few stray tears of his away, “I don’t want to hear you finish that sentence. I don’t care what you think you did or didn’t do, your Uncle would be _so so_ proud of you, do you hear me?”

He could do no more than screw his eyes up against the well of more tears and hiccup out a small sob. She didn’t _understand_ . He didn’t feel like reliving that nightmare completely by telling her; the time he’d spent goofing off with his new powers, when real evil had taken his Uncle away. He hadn’t even cared about his powers beyond _how cool_ they were, how it had made him faster and tougher so he could finally stick up for himself and Ned, if need be. He hadn’t realized what it meant to be given what he had, who he could save.

Unfortunately it took losing someone close to him, again, for him to grasp what the powers meant.

Aunt May tilted his chin so he was looking at her, “Don’t feel _obligated_ to be Spider-Man, Peter. Do it because you want to, because you’re making a difference, because it makes you happy. There are lots of mutants who lead normal lives, the superhero road doesn’t have to be yours, baby. Don’t ever do something because you feel you have to, that’ll only end in resentment. ”

Peter loved being Spider-Man, he really did. But there were times when he _had_ resented his powers. When he was out having fun with friends and he had to leave to stop a crime he felt compelled to stop, or when he was having a night in with Aunt May and he saw the news and felt Spider-Man could be needed, so he’d find some way to ditch on her. Even recently, when Vulture had come, he’d ruined so many moments Peter wanted to spend being a typical high schooler.

But he’d honestly thought he’d have to learn to get used to that. Spider-Man would always come first; because people doing bad things didn’t stop just because he had a seperate life.

“Lastly,” she said softly, her soft breath ruffling the hair around his ear, “Never be scared to come to me. If you’re hurt, scared, confused or need advice. That’s about anything, you know, not just Spider stuff.” Her last part caused him to huff out a laugh.

She squeezed him one last time, leaving a quick kiss to the top of his head, before declaring, “I think this night calls for delivery! It’s not all the time you find out your nephew’s been a secret superhero!”

As she made her way to find her cellphone, most likely to call their favorite Thai place, Peter’s heart clench almost painfully in his chest. He hadn’t wanted Aunt May to find out, she’d be in more risk that way. Yet he found himself completely thankful she now knew his biggest secret. Like he had one more person in his small ring rooting him on. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Aunt May asked, her voice bringing him back to reality. They’d been watching a movie and he’d been spacing out, back to when she’d found out about his powers. Mostly because all he could think about was this Deadpool probably. He knew her one rule was no secrets and he was hesitant to tell her. 

The man was a _mercenary_. He had killed long before even becoming Deadpool. Peter had read the files Karen had found twice over, but most of it was redacted. Actually, after Wade had been taken in by Weapon X, a lot had been redacted. He put together bits and pieces, like Wade voluntarily going into the program, but almost nothing about during, and afterward. Well. It had enough about afterward.

He remembered when the news came out about the highway pile up turn shootout. He hadn’t even had his powers back then, would shortly after, but he remembered feeling wary of another mutant causing trouble. Even back then he’d remembered wishing for someone to be there to stop it all.

Little did he know he’d end up getting his wish, big time.

“Nothing, Aunt May,” he lied. Then he cringed. Damn you Rule #1. It now made it almost impossible for him to lie, and he’d already been terrible at it. But add guilt into the mix and it was over.

Aunt May scooted closer, bringing one leg up beside Peter’s own so she could look at him better, “Ah, ah. Rule number one, bucko. What’s going on?” She leaned her head on her hand propped along the back of the couch, and gave him time to tell her what he’d been at war with himself all day.

It was only Sunday night, so it hadn’t even been a full day since he’d met Deadpool, but he knew it was something he couldn’t keep from her. Not only because of who he could potentially be spending time with, but also because he found he wanted her advice.

“Have you,” he asked reluctantly, “ever heard of a super called Deadpool?”

Aunt May hummed a second before saying, “Can’t say I have, why?”

Peter shrugged, and picked at a fray in his pants, “I saw him on patrol last night. Or, rather, _he_ saw _me_ and wanted to say hello.”

Aunt May smiled, “Wasn’t that nice honey, you usually don’t meet anyone but baddies at night! How’d it go?”

Peter swallowed his nerves, “It went okay, I guess.” 

Aunt May raised her eyebrows, knowing there was more to it, “What did he want? Just to say hi? Is he in your territory, ohh, don’t tell me you’re gonna have a turf war. I raised you better Peter, you can share the heroics! Maybe you two can even help each other out, how about that?”

Peter chuckled at her rant, close to the truth but if only she knew….

“No turf wars, Aunt May. Promise. He just wanted to say hi and introduce himself, and…”

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“He wanted to maybe, uh, help me? I guess. He just said we could team up sometime, if he’s around.”

Aunt May smacked Peter excitedly on the arm, “How cool is that! You’re like some big wig now, getting collabs. Like, what do they call them, those youtube hurus!”

“Gurus, Aunt May. And I don’t know…”

She squeezed his arm, “We all need help sometimes, sweetie. I know you have Karen, but I would definitely feel better if you had a live individual watching your back. If you feel comfortable, get to know him! Maybe this could be a start to a good friendship!”

Oh, Aunt May. She was way too trusting of superheroes. There was only a very thin line between a Superhero and a Villian, and he was almost entirely sure Deadpool may have crossed it. He wasn’t sure why he was still around, why the Avengers or even the X-Men hadn’t done something yet. Why he was popping up to say hi to Spider-Man, of all people. 

Deadpool’s introduction and his offer certainly had felt genuine. Peter hadn’t gotten any bad vibes from him, which looking back on now was odd. Normally someone with a disposition like Deadpools would have had his senses pinging off big time. Even with all those weapons strapped to his body, Peter hadn’t felt one little sense of unease, at least of the Spidey variety.

He hoped his senses weren’t losing their touch! He relied pretty heavily on them.

As Aunt May went to make more popcorn and restart the movie Peter hadn’t been paying attention to, he vowed to tell her more about Deadpool if he met up with him again. If his offer came to fruition and they worked together. Then, he promised himself, he would tell her.

Why worry her about something that may not even come to pass?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry there's still no sign of Deadpool! He'll be in the next chapter, I swear. Maybe I should tag this as slow burn? ha ha! Leave a comment behind on what you think so far, or if you find anything that needs fixing. I'm having fun writing this, so I hope you're having fun reading it! Thanks!

Peter had gone through the school week on both a high of anticipation and a low of trepidation in regards to his possible meet up with Deadpool. For the first time, other than Tony Stark confronting him and finding out his identity, did he feel the real weight of being Spider-Man on his shoulders. Beyond being called upon several times to help defeat some obdurate villains, even one notable call being to come help them wrangle up Thor’s brother Loki (and that had just been a very weird confusing day altogether), he’d mostly stuck to his own brand of friendly neighborhood criminals. That’s honestly what he’d wanted, after telling Mr. Stark that he’d rather not be an Avenger, at least not yet…considering he’d known it was a test all along, anyway! He was still on what Mr. Stark called “Rookie level”, even if he was stopping more crime than ever and doing so with his fully functioning Spider Suit. 

(Of course, Mr. Stark was under the impression Peter only just unlocked the last few technological advances of his suit a few months ago. He never seemed to catch on to the fact Ned had hacked into it. So really, he was far past “Rookie level” in his own eyes, but he couldn’t tell Mr. Stark that!)

So the thought of teaming up with another superhero ( _is_ that what we’re calling him, he asked himself) of his own free volition made him twitchy. It made him nervously overthink the whole ordeal because, to be honest, he didn’t have anyone to blame if this went sideways. This wasn’t him being dragged into the big leagues by an Avenger, or even a villian causing him to think quickly enough to damn the consequences. No, this would be on _Peter_ _Parker_ if things went south and people got hurt; because he’d read the intel, he’d known the risk, he’d known, thanks to Karen, the percentage of this going badly.

(When he’d asked her to calculate the data, she’d replied, voice slightly hesitant, “The probability of your team up with Deadpool going badly is approximately 93.81%.”

The scientist in Peter couldn’t look at those numbers with anything but damnation.)

But it also excited him in a way he hadn’t felt since Mr. Stark took him to Berlin. He loved going out as Spider-Man to help stop crime, and while every night was different, some more thrilling than others, there were certain things Peter just couldn’t do by himself. He knew his capabilities as Spider-Man, and while he was good at it, more than good, he could only imagine the possibilities having a partner could open up. Other than the brief trip to team up against Captain America, Peter was used to being a solo guy. This would be a completely new experience for him; to team up with someone he had only just met and learned about _,_ and work together with them. He couldn’t stop the excitement twitching in his fingers. It reminded him of Germany, where he’d gotten to briefly steal Cap’s shield. He’d been so nervous and excited at the same time, because he had no idea of the outcome. Yeah, he decided, it felt a little like that. 

All week Peter had been dodging Ned’s questions, because of course his best friend knew him well enough to know what his bitten up pencil eraser, constant leg bounce, and eyes glued to the clock meant. It meant something was seriously bothering him, and if something was bothering either one of them it was the other’s official Bro Duty™ to do something about it.

Even if it meant you had to pester them until they broke.

It was lunchtime on a thursday when Ned finally got to the whining guilt-inducing phase of breaking Peter down.

“Come ooon,” Ned bemoaned across the lunch table, “You could seriously handle me knowing the single most important thing about you, but this you’re keeping a secret? I _know_ it can’t be as big as _you know what.”_ He whispered the last part as if Voldemort himself would appear.

“You do realize,” Peter said, while peeling a clementine, “That I didn’t _actually_ tell you about-” 

Peter glanced around, but as usual their table was rather secluded, and MJ hadn’t bothered to grace them with her presence today. His spider-sense didn’t give any indication they were on anyone’s radar.

“-being Spider-Man,” he still continued in a near whisper. Better safe than sorry.

Ned rolled his eyes and continued on with his pestering, as if that was neither here nor there.

“Peter, I’m your guy behind the chair. After you, I’m the next person who needs to know things!”

“What if it has nothing to do with that?” Peter countered, popping a slice in his mouth.

Ned huffed, “I doubt that, that’s pretty much what consumes your life now-a-days.”

A stab of guilt ripped through Peter. He’d been trying to make more time for Ned, really. He knew he could get swept up in being Spider-Man too much sometimes. He vowed to make a day for just them in the next week, since it was obvious Ned felt they weren’t getting enough friend time in. Peter could agree on that.

“Well,” Ned continued, oblivious to Peter’s thoughts, “If it’s not that, and it’s obviously not school related, did you meet someone?”

Peter sputtered and almost choked on the clementine he’d just bit into.

Ned, who had been in the struggling process of trying to tear open the spout of a carton of milk, looked up in disbelief. As if he hadn’t assumed his question would go anywhere.

“No way!” he exclaimed, a little too loudly.

Peter shushed him quickly. He didn’t like drawing more attention to themselves than necessary. Especially if they were going to talk about Spider-Man things.

Ned quieted his voice but continued on excitedly, “Did you meet her on patrol? Did you save her? Did she give you a kiss as a thank you? Dude, I mean, I may be the guy behind the chair but maybe there could be a job opening for a side-kick?”

Peter’s thoughts were scrambling, trying to keep up with Ned’s questions.

“No, no, of course not! I would never-” he blushed just thinking about it. He’d never allow someone to do that out of gratitude. It just felt wrong somehow.

“Well, now I know I’m down the right path with your reaction. Come on, Peter. You can tell me! I’ve kept bigger secrets than whatever this is.”

Before Peter could think he said, “He’s not a secret, I just-”

Peter almost heard the snap of Ned’s jaw dropping.

“What?” Peter asked, confused.

“Okay,” Ned said, almost to himself, nodding, “You know I don’t care, either way, right?”

Peter, still clueless, could only stare at Ned. 

“I’m glad you trust me with this, Peter. It doesn’t change anything. Promise.” Ned, nodding one more time, went back to trying to open his milk carton.

Peter swiped it out of his hands, and had it open in less than a second.

“You know I hate when you do that, right?” Ned grumbled, but gladly accepted the milk back.

“I know,” Peter said smugly. Sometimes it was fun to use his heightened senses and strengths for everyday things. If only to see others around him get confused. In Ned’s case, just completely peeved that _he_ hadn’t been the one to get bitten by a spider on their field trip. 

“So, this guy you’re seeing, what’s he like,” Ned asked casually, taking a bite of his cafeteria lunch. Today it looked like macaroni and cheese, but you never really knew.

Peter could tell from the heat on his face he went from blushing to straight ripe tomato. Did he miss a piece of this conversation?!

“What are you talking about?” Peter hissed.

“Dude, you said it not me. Like I said it doesn’t bother me, it’s not like we have to keep it a secret. I mean, unless you don’t want to talk about it.” Ned shrugged like he didn’t care, but his inflection said otherwise.

They didn’t keep much from each other. Before the huge Spider-Man secret, it had been one of their rules. It’s what had made Ned finding out such a relief. Peter didn’t do well with lying, or keeping secrets, and neither did Ned. They had a good friendship based on nerd themed things, science, and always being truthful with each other. 

“H-Hold up,” Peter’s hands came up in the universal signal for ‘time out’.

“I was talking about meeting a _superhero_ ,” Peter eyed Ned suspiciously across the table, “What were _you_ talking about?”

Ned gazed sheepishly back at Peter, “Uh, same?”

Peter narrowed his eyes.

“Okay, sorry I assumed or whatever. But you kind of made it seem that way,” Ned rambled on defensively, “And it’s not like being gay or bi or whatever is bad these days. Heteronormativity is thrust on us at such a young age! I mean, it’s not like we’ve had time to even establish what we like!”

Okay, Peter blinked in surprise, now they were starting to be on the same page. So they were going to have this talk today. He hadn’t expected that to come from bringing up Deadpool. (In the months that follow, he’d realize it was the exact thing to expect when bringing up Deadpool.)

“Woah, Ned, I’m not mad at you! I was just pretty freaking confused, that’s all.” Peter reassured, “I, uh. I don’t think that it’s bad either. To be those things. I agree.”

Damn him and his neverending blush.

Ned nodded, “Okay, so, why didn’t you want to bring this guy up?”

Peter glanced around again, ever paranoid.

“It’s not really something to discuss here, but if you come over tonight I’ll let you read through the files I’ve got on him.” Peter leaded back from the table, “I’d like your opinion on it anyway.”

Ned smiled one of his classic smiles, “Awesome.”

“He wants to team up,” Peter divulged, ever impatient. He didn’t want to wait the rest of the school day to get a jump start on bits of the conversation. It wouldn’t hurt to talk here, undetailed, at school.

“No way, that’s so cool. Wait, does that mean I get to be his man behind the chair, too?"

Peter couldn’t help the chuckles that escaped him at that. 

“What? What’s so funny?”

“You’ll see,” was all Peter could say.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some Deadpool! Sorry the chapter ended the way it did, I want more Deadpool time too (he's fun to write), but I'm dead (heh) tired and it just felt like the right spot to stop. Drop a comment if something needs fixing, or just to tell me what you think! I hope everyone is enjoying so far! Happy reading!

Peter extended a hand to shoot out a web absentmindedly. 

He was often zoning out while swinging around- his senses wouldn’t let him crash into anything, _usually_ , and it would alert him if anything was going on nearby. So it left time for his thoughts to wander.

He couldn’t help but think over Ned’s reaction again. Which had been…very Ned.

Peter had watched as Ned scanned the documents he’d had Karen transfer over onto his computer. Ned was the kind of person to read first, react later. So Peter couldn’t tell what was going on in his mind at the moment, not until he was finished reading the very last word.

“I don’t know about this, Peter,” were the first words out of his mouth.

Peter couldn’t refute that statement because, well, it was the exact thing he’d been telling himself all week.

“This feels an awful lot like when we hacked into your suit,” Ned continued unsure. 

“I was doing that to stop a bad guy!” Peter protested, “How is this anything like that?”

“Because it feels illegal!” Ned said back rather loudly, “Have you told Mr. Stark about this?”

Peter slouched back next to Ned under the bottom bunk of his bed. Thankfully Aunt May wasn’t home yet from work to overhear their conversation. When Ned got hysterical, all bets were off on subtly. 

Peter crossed his arms defiantly, “It’s definitely _not_ illegal. You read the same thing I did; he’s had team-ups with both X-Men _and_ Shield. I highly doubt they’d work with him if he was some sort of deranged murderer.”

Ned gave Peter a dubious look.

“Okay, okay. So maybe Shield _would_ work with a deranged murderer if it meant getting the job done. But the X-Men?”

“It seems like he’s only worked with a few of them, and it looked rather messy,” Ned countered.

Peter shrugged against the wall.

“He’s been to the Ice Box, Peter. That’s _mutant jail!_ This guy totally fits the profile of someone you’d go after,” he looked back down at the text in front of him, “Especially if what happened had happened while you’d had powers.”

Again, Peter couldn’t argue with that. It was completely true. He didn’t know how to explain to Ned what he felt, because he felt a lot of things. He felt trepidation, yes, but also excitement at the potential adventure. It got lonely fighting crime by himself, sometimes. So lonely that he was contemplating associating with a murderous mutant felon.

He rubbed at his eyes a little too hard, seeing little flecks of light and stars play out behind his eyelids.

He often wondered if he should have accepted the offer to be an Avenger when he’d had the chance. He hadn’t been asked again, other than the few calls to swing by to help out, and he’d _never_ swallow his pride enough to ask. No one on the Avengers had to _ask_ to be on the team. How embarrassing! 

“Why haven’t you asked Mr. Stark about this?” Ned questioned again. Damn Ned and his intuitiveness. Peter had deflected that question purposefully.

“Because I don’t want to run to Mr. Stark every time I face a problem. He’ll never take me seriously! He already thinks I can’t handle the big leagues. This would only prove his point even more!”

Ned stared at him for a few moments before letting out a big sigh.

The side of Peter’s mouth quirked up. He knew that sigh.

“Just be careful, Peter,” Ned conceded, shaking his head like he already knew what Peter was going to do: make bad choices. 

“You sound like Aunt May,” he teased back, thankful to have a friend like Ned who never left his side. Even when they disagreed about something.

“Well,” Ned reasoned, “She’s a smart lady.”

After that they used Ned’s skills to look up Deadpool off file. They found a few videos on youtube, a couple write-ups by local mutant-follower blogs, and his honest to God Instagram.

They’d spent the rest of the time, until Aunt May came in to tell Ned it was time to go home, did they forget it was a school night, looking through his ridiculous pictures.

None of himself outside costume, it seemed, but plenty of everything else. Lots of food, guns, some dogs, a burly guy in a motorcycle jacket who kind of looked like a fat Gandalf (or so the description so helpfully pointed out) with a murderous expression, and even a few of him dressed up in funny outfits while still in his costume.

As Ned was leaving, he gave one last opinion, “This guy seems crazy.”

Peter released another web and pushed himself forward.

Yeah, Peter got that vibe, too. But his senses hadn’t gone off around him and he’d at least seemed genuine when they’d met. 

Also, he told himself, this didn’t have to be an all the time thing. Deadpool had just said they could team up when he saw him around. He’d never even met Deadpool before in the city, so who knew how long he planned to be around. Maybe this was a once in a while thing.

Maybe Peter wouldn’t even see him tonight.

Peter tried to act like that thought didn’t disappoint him.

He wasn’t out here looking for Deadpool. He was out here patrolling the city. If he happened to see Deadpool, fine, he’d swing his way. Otherwise it was a regular Friday night out as Spider-Man.

If he found himself swinging around where he’d first met Deadpool through the night, well. It was just because it _was_ a rather shady part of town. Lots of crime happened in that area.

Eventually Peter was torn out of his thoughts by a yelp a few blocks to his right. He swung faster, using momentum to get there just in time, and dropped down to see a man pushing a woman roughly up against the brick of a dark alley, groping at her waistline.

These guys had to get more original with their settings. 

“Please,” the women cried shakily, “D-don’t-”

“Shut up,” the man grunted, grabbing at her purse and throwing it towards the front of the alley, probably to grab later as he left. Or so he thought.

“This lady doesn’t seem like she’s having such a great time,” Peter quipped, “I just can’t imagine why.”

The guy jumped, but kept a steely grip on the women’s forearm, dragging her in front of himself.

Why did they all think that was going to protect them? He scoffed mentally.

“Is it the dark seedy alley?” He wondered aloud, staying where he was, “The mugging?”

Finally he took a step out of the shadows, into the dingy light coming from the busted lamp towards the lip of the alley, “Or is it the whole non-consensual thing?”

“Come any closer and I’ll slash her throat out,” the man threatened, brandishing a knife near her throat. Peter could see from the diagnostics on his screen that the man’s heart rate was increasing; he was scared. _Good._

But so was the woman he had in his hold and that he didn’t like.

He stayed where he was, not needing to move closer to do what he planned to next, and said softly, “You’re gonna be okay, I promise, just close your eyes.”

She couldn’t nod with the knife so close to her throat, but she did as she was told. 

  
“Shut up!” The man snarled at him, “Stay the fuck back!” 

Peter was just about to lift both hands, one towards the man's hand to render the knife useless and another towards the women to drag her over to him, when he felt his Spider-Sense tingle towards the front of the alley.

Peter didn’t even have time to look before a large round object was whistling through the air, only to hit the mugger slash probable rapist in the head with a loud _thunk._

The man was incapaciated and falling like a sack of potatoes onto the disgusting broken cement below instantly.

Peter, although confused, was still quick enough to throw out his webs. The knife didn’t harm the women as the man fell, and she got pulled forward fast enough by Peter that the man’s hooked arm didn’t take her down in his descent. 

He may have pulled a little too hard, and he’d blame his thrown-off plan for that, when a hand of hers planted itself on his chest to steady herself.

He brushed the web off her and stepped back, cheeks heating slightly under the mask. He hadn’t meant to pull her so far towards him. He didn’t want to unsettle her by being in her space. Even if he had helped rescue her, she’d just been through something traumatic and she didn’t know him. 

“T-thank you,” she said tearfully, but not as shaken up as some women he’d saved before.

“You’re welcome,” -but the voice that came out of his mouth sounded deeper than normal.

He looked over to see Deadpool carrying the women's purse over his shoulder.

The women took a hesitant step towards Peter, away from Deadpool.

“You’re welcome,” Peter echoed Deadpool.

Deadpool slipped the purse off his shoulder and extended it out towards the women by his fingertips, who took it after a moment's hesitation. As if wondering if what was in the purse was worth getting closer to him for. 

After the purse was in her possession she threw another look between the two of them, before her heels were making a quick clacking exit down the alley and turning right;

steps fading into the night.

“Wow,” Deadpool said in the silence between them, “it sure does feel nice to be thanked! My usual gig isn’t the thank you type, if you know what I mean.”

Peter had no idea what he meant, but could certainly assume.

“I think that was directed at me,” he argued. If only because he was a little ticked at being thrown off by Deadpool popping up. Was this going to become a habit? (It would most certainly become a habit.)

“ _You’re welcome,”_ Deadpool repeated, crossing his arms causally and leaning against the brick, ignoring Peter’s comment entirely.

Peter bristled. He’d had it covered!

“I had it covered,” Peter voiced aloud to Deadpool.

“I just figured, since I was walking by and all, that this perfectly presented opportunity could show just how well we could work together!” 

Peter’s mask couldn’t fully portray the doubtful expression his face held, but Deadpool answered as if he could see it clear as day.

His leather creaked as he raised his hands in a three finger salute, “Scouts honor, Spidey! I was just walking back from enjoying some _delicioso_ tacos, actually on my way to find _you_ , when I heard Mr. Rapey over here take that hot fox off the street.”

Peter crossed his arms as Deadpool continued his story.

“I’d just popped off a hubcap and been about to throw it when I heard you talking. I would have thrown sooner but I didn’t want to cut off the repartee you had goin’!”

Peter hands clenched defensively into his biceps and he tried to will his blush down. He wasn’t used to having feedback from his fights- he knew he liked to joke and talk a lot. It probably sounded stupid to others, but it helped lighten the seriousness of some of the situtations he was in. Not only for himself but for the people he helped. Plus, sometimes it was too damn fun to heckle the criminals he fought. 

“No, no!” Deadpool's hands waved as if to ward off Peter’s thoughts, “It was hilarious, Webs! I thought my giggles were gonna give me away!”

Peter could hear the sincerity in his voice, and reflexively unclenched. 

Peter eyed Deadpool for a moment before saying, “And you were on your way to find me?”

“Of course,” Deadpool’s mask moved and Peter could hear his grin, “I couldn’t tease the readers like that. Plus, I hadn’t expected to go _a whole week_ without seeing you!”

Peter, not wanting to talk about Aunt May’s school night rule, looked for a way to change the conversation.

A soft groan from the ground below provided just that.

Peter could have smacked himself. He was letting Deadpool distract him.

He hadn’t tied up the guy _or_ called the police. That was a level one rookie mistake, come on, Peter!

“Karen,” Peter called as he crouched down to bind the guys hands and feet with webbing.

“Yes, Peter?” She responded.

“Take a facial scan of this guy and run it through the NYPD database, I have a hunch he’s got a warrant or two out. This doesn’t feel like a one-time thing.”

“Of course, Peter.” 

Since the lady hadn’t stayed around to talk to the police, there was nothing a call-in was going to do unless this man had something out on him. Peter himself had tried staying a few times to talk to the police, but it never ended well. Vigilante, after all. He’s threatened a few baddies to tell the truth when the police came or else he’d find them and make them pay- but. Well, he’s not exactly comfortable playing the tough guy like that and he knows it comes out more like he’s reading a script than he’s actually serious.

A few guys had done it, the ones afraid enough to follow his instructions, but most just told the police a psycho in a spider-man onesie tied them up. Not much they could do with no witnesses, no charges pressed, and just a friendly neighborhood tip that something had gone down.

So, he’d learned to either ask the victims to stay until the police came to give a recount, or run the bad guys (in the cases people didn’t want to stay, or couldn’t) through the NYPD database. Most of them popped up for something. 

That he could work with.

“...Either you’re as insane as me,” Deadpool said, “Or you got yourself a fancy little AI assistant like the great Stark himself.”

Peter looked up at Deadpool from his crouched position, startled by Mr. Stark’s name.

He wasn’t sure what to say. Mr. Stark had never told him the suits creator was a secret, but it felt like something he shouldn’t be advertising around. 

The thought of what he should say to that was lost when Karen finally got back to him about her scan.

“He has a warrant out in New York for two cases of aggravated assault.” 

Peter heaved a relieved sigh, they could get this man off the streets.

He stood up as he asked her, “Could you call this location in to the local PD?”

“Already on it, Peter.”

Peter smiled, “Thanks Karen.”

“Police ETA is 10 minutes,” she told him, “and you’re welcome.”

Knowing the guy wasn’t going anywhere and the police were on their way, Peter started walking out of the alley. Deadpool’s steps fell in line with his own until he stopped along the sidewalk just outside the entrance to the alleyway.

Peter looked up and down the street, before spying the car Deadpool had taken from. He wanted to suggest Deadpool put the stolen piece back, but Peter wasn’t sure how he’d take it. 

Instead he said, “A hubcap, huh?”

Deadpool shrugged, “I had to think quickly.”

“Not your typical MO,” Peter stated nonchalantly. They had to talk about Deadpool’s proposition sometime, and better to clear the air on what Peter had found out before this got too far. 

Deadpool stiffened.

Peter left the ball in his court, though, and kept quiet.

“No,” Deadpool agreed quietly, “Not usually. But…”

He paused briefly, and looked over at Peter, “I’m trying to turn over a new leaf.”

“Why?” Peter asked. And that was the big question wasn’t it? What made Deadpool seek him out, what made him turn over a new leaf? Peter was skeptical, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t interested. His whole shtick was about giving people chances to change themselves- it’s why he didn’t hurt those he went up against, at least not critically. He let justice go to work, and if those people wanted to change themselves, they would. Peter wouldn’t be the one to take that opportunity from them.

Even if...Even if they’d done horrible things. Didn’t everyone deserve a chance at redemption?

“I-” 

Deadpool was interrupted by the door of a local bar swinging open down the block, raucous music and laughter escaping along with the stumbling couple. 

“Let’s not do this here,” Peter suggested. He was getting twitchy anyway. On the streets was not his favorite spot to be in. He couldn’t survey everything like he could when up high swinging, and his sense got distracted more easily.

Deadpool just nodded his assent.

Peter hesitated, wondering if he should offer to web the man over to where he was thinking, even though they weren’t far. But he chickened out at the last second.

“Meet you over at the spot on Linden? Where we met?”

Deadpool’s masked twitched before saying, “You got it Spidey-babe.” 

He took off at a run.

Peter certainly wasn’t going to let Deadpool beat him, not after the ridiculous nickname was still heating up his face!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update for you all! Shorter but still here, let me know what you think! Enjoy!

Peter beat Deadpool but only just, which baffled the young superhero. A full minute had barely passed before Deadpool parkoured his way onto the rooftop Peter himself had just casually swung onto.

When swinging around Peter was often used to having spare time before his company showed up; he almost always beat anyone to designated locations simply because of his method of travel. Having Deadpool keep up with him was, honestly, new and invigorating. 

“Dammit,” Deadpool grumbled as he made his way further toward where Peter was standing, “I should wear a shirt that says ‘Went through insane levels of tramautic torture and all I got was this inability to die mutation…” his voice quieted as if talking to himself, “Oh, and this ugly mug.’” Peter’s enhanced hearing caught it anyway. 

He collapsed along the buildings ledge, swinging his feet over and kicking them two and fro, “Keeping up with you Super-Muts is ex-haus-ting.” 

Peter, feeling weird standing over the man, sat hesitantly an arms length away. He didn’t exactly know how to start the conversation, but he knew what he wanted to say so he went with, “I don’t know the extent of your superpower but I do know lot’s of mutants can’t keep up with me,” he smiled behind his mask in Deadpool’s direction, “so don’t beat yourself up, Usain Bolt.”

Deadpool barked out a laugh that had Peter feeling proud of himself. 

They sat in companionable silence for a while before Deadpool broke it.

“Listen, us sitting here isn’t going to further the plot, so let’s help an author out and just get to it, shall we?”

Peter looked at Deadpool like he was crazy, which only meant his Spider-Man eyes widened minutely.

Deadpool sighed, “Let me guess, you read up on whatever files your grabby hands could get ahold of on me.” Deadpool extended a hand as if glancing at a manicure, even though he was wearing gloves.

“I-Well-,” Peter sputtered, because. Well, he _had_ done that.

Deadpool shot the hand he’d been examining into a finger gun, pulling the trigger and continuing, “Let me _also_ guess that you and whoever else you deemed worthy of bringing into the cause thinks it's an insane idea and to run- ahem, sorry- _swing_ in the opposite direction.”

Peter continued to stare. Had Deadpool bugged him that night a week ago?

“How warm am I getting?” Deadpool asked, “Florida or depths of hell?” He scratched at his head through his mask, “Maybe those are too similar. What I’m trying to ask is, did I get it in one?”

Peter, ignoring his questions, choked out, “You go against everything I am as Spider-man!”

He instantly winced. Okay, so, like ripping off a band-aid it is. Right to the point. Way to go, Web-head! 

“You’re telling that to the wrong person,” Deadpool replied, voice gruff, “I know that better than anyone.”

Peter gestured to himself, confused, “Then why me? I do local neighborhood stuff, man. Looking out for the little guy. You’ve taken on organizations and criminals far beyond my reach. You’ve worked with Shield!”

Even to his ears he seemed like he was trying to unsell himself. Was he trying to do that? He wasn’t sure. He knew he was doing good work around New York but that still didn’t give him any clue why someone like Deadpool had any interest in being around someone like him. Heck, he still checked up on the old dominican lady he helped with directions a few years ago and regularly ate churros with her! 

“Listen, kid, I’ll spare you the two hours and fourteen minutes of my sequel and just say this. I’ve lost someone. God,” Deadpool pinched his fingers into his eyes as if real tears themselves would escape through the mask, “Sorry. Shit. I just really liked her, ya know.”

Peter glanced down in sympathy. He knew all too well what it felt like to lose someone close.

“Ugh,” Deadpool sniffed obnoxiously, “I said I’d spare you the full length feature and here I am repeating the first half hour like I haven’t already cried like a baby about it. _Anyway_ , moving on, what I was getting at is...I’ve lost and gained someone pretty fucking awesome people in my life, and it’s made me realize something.”

“And what’s that?” Peter asked softly, his own thoughts of Uncle Ben still playing in his mind.  
  
“I can’t keep killing everything to make it go away, because it only comes back to bite me ten times harder. Or not me, actually, cause I’d be fine from a few dozen chomps. But the people around me don’t deserve that.”

Peter waited for Deadpool to continue, only to realize Deadpool probably expected a reply to all that heartfeltness he’d just laid out.

While he emotionally connected with Deadpool, he still had no idea what it had to do with him.

“I still don’t understand what any of that has to do with me,” he said, gentler this time. He’d been a bit rude before. He practically heard Aunt May reprimanding him. Even if he’d been rude to an ex-mercenary turned mutant turn assassin. 

“ _Everything,_ ” Deadpool replied slightly unhinged, “Listen I _tried_ to change what happened using some bullshit wonky time-turner from the future. Let me tell you, _it only made shit worse_. Have you heard of The Butterfly Effect?”

Peter, being the scientist nerd he was, nodded. 

“Yeah, well, this guy,” Deadpool directed two thumbs at himself, “can attest that while the movie sucked ass, it one hundred and ten percent was truthful in the way one change can _fuck shit up worse_.”

Deadpool slumped his shoulders defeatedly, “In the end, I ended up back in the same sad reality with only myself to blame.”

Peter felt like he should do something. Like give him a sympathetic shoulder pat. Would that be weird?

Suddenly Deadpool perked up and scooted closer in Peter’s direction, “But then I ran across a little old lady outside a _fabulous_ taqueria I regularly frequent and she told me you helped her find her way home when she was lost once, and still continue to meet her for churros when you can! So I figured, if I can learn how to do the right thing, it’s from Mr. Perfect Do-Gooder himself!”

If Peter hadn’t heard the blinding truth and hero-worship in his voice, he would have bristled. It wasn’t like his morals or his actions didn’t get mocked on the daily. Looking at you, Daily Bugle.

But he could tell the other man was serious, and that was just as bad.

“I’m not perfect, Deadpool.”

“Um, from where I’m sitting,” Deadpool looked him up and down, “you are.”

Peter cheeks felt warm. Sometimes it got hot in the mask, okay?

“I’m not,” Peter insisted, ignoring the innuendo entirely. 

Deadpool shrugged as if it hardly mattered, “Then you’re as close to it as I can get and I’m gonna need that. Death and wrong doing follow me around like flies on shit.”

Leather creaked as a gloved hand extended towards Peter, “So, whatcha say, Sensei? Want an apprentice?”

His tone was far more upbeat than the conversation allowed, and at Peter's hesitation he threw up his hands.

“I ain’t trying to steal your thunder here. I don’t want to be the next Spider-Man, I couldn’t pull off the spandex.”

A small smile tugged at Peter’s mouth at that, unbeknownst to Deadpool.

“I’m just asking for your help,” the other man nearly whispered, and Peter realized that behind all that red and black leather, he was just that. A man. 

“Please,” Wade pleaded, and for the first time Peter saw someone who needed his help.

Peter grabbed the hand hovering before him and shook.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi (: Here with a slightly smaller update but I hadn't quite finished the second part I was working on and didn't want to leave you with nothing in the mean time. It seems I'll be trying to update Mondays and Thursdays, if I can manage. I want to also remind everyone of a couple things: 1) Peter may be 17 when this starts, but he will be of age when anything remotely physically sexual happens. If anyone still technically thinks this should be tagged underage, just let me know! I certainly don't think so, but I wouldn't want to trigger anyone or make someone upset. 2) I'm just having fun with this. I have a rough outline, and of course a direction I want to go, but beyond that I'm kind of just going with the flow. So tags may change/be added to- please just be aware of that. I'm writing this story for myself, but I want others to enjoy it to. If it develops into something you don't like, I'm sorry! But if you have anything you'd like to suggest I'm all ears, too! 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this slight update and I should have more for you soon. Happy reading!

Deadpool looked from their clasped hands, to Spider-Man’s masked face then back to their clasped hands.

He repeated the movement a few times, faster with each glance. The motion would almost be comical, if not for the sheer astonishment emanating from Deadpool; he even looked surprised through his mask. 

“Well shit,” Deadpool finally drawled, “I need to start saying please a lot more if it’s gonna get me what I want.”

Peter, hand still in Deadpool’s and only finding his palm getting warmer and sweatier by the second, snatched it away.

“Manners can get you far,” Peter agreed, side-eyeing Deadpool. The sadness and desperation that had clouded him a moment ago seemed to have vanished. Peter _knew_ it had been genuine, had felt it with such great clarity that it had been the motivation for him to impulsively grab the other man’s hand.

He just hadn’t expected such an emotional turn around, that’s all.

Deadpool was back to swinging his legs and running his mouth like he hadn’t revealed a vulnerable part of himself just moments ago.

“So, I’m thinking since I’m your partner now-”

“Apprentice!” Peter interjected quickly.

“-we should come up with a combined name for when we team-up!” 

Peter raised his eyebrows behind the mask. That’s what Deadpool’s first concern was?

Deadpool hummed thoughtfully, “Dead-Man? Nah, that’s on-brand for me, but not for you, Spidey.”

Peter was just about to say something when Deadpool snapped his leather fingers together.

“That’s it! Spidey-Pool!” Deadpool suddenly cackled with glee, “That’s what they call us when we’re _together_ , if ya know what I mean.” Somehow his mask conveyed his waggling eyebrows.

Peter had no idea who or what he was referring too, but he was getting pretty darn sick of blushing around him all the time. Even if the man beside him had no clue, it was the _principle._

“Deadpool do you want my help or not?” Peter found himself barking it out a tad bit sterner than he meant to. 

“Of course!” Deadpool said sincerely, fingers coming up to criss cross along his chest, “Cross my heart and always hoping to die but can’t quite get it to stick.”

Peter was already starting to regret his decision. Deadpool was so _weird._

But no weirder than a kid with spider-like powers, so, really, who was he to judge?

“Listen,” Peter started, “I’m totally down with you helping me when I patrol, but it’s gotta be on _my_ terms.”

Deadpool nodded his head enthusiastically, “You got it, Webs. Whatever you want, you just say the words.”

Peter hesitated before just coming right out with it. “No killing.”

Deadpool, with a swiftness and ferocity even Peter’s senses couldn’t see coming, suddenly launched a gun out and away from himself.

“Done.”

Peter quickly shot out a web and retrieved the still sailing away gun.

“Deadpool, what-!?” The gun felt way too heavy in Peter’s palm, and he shoved it back at Deadpool like it was on fire.

Deadpool refused to take it back.

“You said no killing!”

Peter shoved the flatter side of the gun harder into Deadpool’s chest, hoping it wouldn’t go off. He had no experience with guns except the one that took his uncle away and the occasional bad guy who carried them. He _hated_ guns. 

“ _Take it back_ , _Deadpool_ ,” he nearly growled, “You can’t just go throwing guns around like that, it’s irresponsible! Who knows who could have found it and picked it up?” 

Deadpool finally relented, and holstered it back up.

“Plus,” Peter continued, relieved the gun was out of his hands, out of his sight, and _away,_ “I know you aren’t just carrying _one_ gun.” 

“It was symbolic!” Deadpool huffed, arms crossing petulantly. 

Peter sighed frustratedly through his nose, then stopped. He had seen his Aunt May do the same thing when she was frustrated with _him._ _Oh God,_ he thought suddenly, _I’m the responsible one here._

If Deadpool teamed up with him, and something like what he’d read in his file happened, he’d feel completely responsible. He was the one to allow Deadpool to tag along. He would be the one to blame if things went sideways. He could almost hear Mr. Stark’s words from years ago echoing in his ears; _“that’s on_ _you_ _.”_

It was a pretty terrifying thought.

“Uh, Spidey?” Deadpool’s gloved hand waved in front of his face, and Peter blinked to focus himself, “You okay in there? You went all quiet-like, and your eyes went all glitchy and wide...Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts already?”

He phrased it like a joke, but it fell flat with the edge of worry laced up within the loaded question. 

Some part of Deadpool was just as worried as Peter was. Even if it was for entirely different reasons. He clearly hadn’t expected Peter to say yes, and was already worried he’d take the agreement back. 

And that’s exactly what Peter had been thinking, too. Suddenly, he felt guilty.

Deadpool was in his city right now for better or for worse. Wasn’t the better option to have him by Spider-Man’s side than running solo on the streets? Having him close by, Peter could keep better tabs and potentially get more crime-fighting done this way.

The thought gave Peter enough peace to say, “No, not yet, but Deadpool, and I’m completely serious, you follow my lead when you’re with me.”

“You got it, Captain!” Deadpool agreed, then, probably used to everyone doubting his sincerity followed it with a solemn, “Promise.”

Peter must still have been giving off skeptical vibes because Deadpool raised three fingers in a mimic of early that night and said, 

“I always keep my promises, Spidey. Just ask Scoutmaster Kevin!”

Peter shook his head at Deadpool’s antics.

“I won’t need to ask anyone, Deadpool, because you’re going to _show_ me.” 

“I always was pretty damn good at Show and Tell,” Deadpool quipped. Peter continued as if he hadn't heard it.

“How about we reconvene tomorrow night?” Peter suggested, “With less guns, more-”

“Guns?” Deadpool finished, flexing his biceps obnoxiously.

The laughter that escaped out of Peter surprised even him, but it did the trick at breaking the tension that had been building inside himself.

“You’ve got a nice laugh, Spidey,” Deadpool mentioned as he rose from his seated position.

“Uh,” Peter had never been told that before, “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome, cutie,” Deadpool winked down at him, before saying, “See you tomorrow! Same bat time, same bat channel!” 

With that, he fiddled with his utility belt for a moment and was gone in the blink of an eye. 

“What…?” 

Peter was left confused and gaping at the space Deadpool had just occupied, left with even more questions than answers every time he met with the other man.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know guys, I just don't know. There is action in this chapter, or at least what I hope is described as action lol. This chapter was like pulling teeth, even if I could completely see it in my head. That's why it's 1 am on a Friday morning and I have to work in less than 6 hours. Let me know if this missed the mark or if you enjoyed it. I'm too tired to do anything but press 'post'. Happy reading!!

“What are you wearing?” Was the first thing out of Peter’s mouth the next night when he landed silently on the rooftop in front of Deadpool who was already there waiting for him.

“Ohh, Spidey,” Deadpool crooned, clasping his hands together, “You noticed!”

How could he not have? Deadpool was clad in his full get up, minus a few spots for his guns that Peter could see, thankfully, but it seemed he had slid a t-shirt over the top of his costume. __

An ill fitting shirt, as it barely came down under his pecs. It was tye-dyed red and blue, but Peter swore he could see some spots of yellow peeking through, oddly enough. The front had a circled X that had been transformed into a spider using what could only have been spray paint. 

Deadpool spun, posing to show off the back. The material was bunched up from the katanas still strapped there, but the word TRAINEE embellished along the shoulders was still clearly visible.

“I made it special for you,” Deadpool posed, “Do you like it?”

__ Peter didn’t know what to say to that, so instead he settled on the thing that seemed more pressing, “What’s with the katanas?”

__ Deadpool turned to face him, “Katana’s arent just for the stabby stabby, Mr. Spider. I’ll have you know I've incapaticated people with just the  _ handle  _ of these babies.” He lifted a hand behind himself to stroke one lovingly.

__ “Yeeeah,” Peter drew the word out slowly, “That’s what I’m worried about.”

__ The other man’s stance stiffened defensively, and his voice held no room for budging as he said, “I’m not getting rid of my girls.”

__ He’d truly gotten rid of his guns, at least the ones normally visible. Peter hadn't  _ actually  _ specified him not to bring the katanas. If the man could prove that he wouldn’t use them to critically hurt someone, then they could stay.

__ He said as much to Deadpool.

__ “Sir, yes, Sir.” Deadpool paused a moment to reflect and say, “You know, this is unexpectedly hitting my submission kink. Not that I don’t like taking control, but sometimes it’s nice to have someone take the reigns and give me a good-”

__ “Okay,” Peter interrupted Deadpool’s ramblings before he could get any further, “That’s enough. Let’s go.”

__ Peter thought it would be hard patrolling with Deadpool, thinking his ability to keep up with the web-slinger would waver, but everywhere Peter was Deadpool was quick to follow. Sure, Peter had a bit more advantage in the air; he had a clearer path, and didn’t have to worry about obstacles. Even so, Deadpool kept up just fine on the ground below.

Peter split his time between swinging, looking out above, and walking beside his companion. Deadpool often found ways to entertain himself, whether it was to make passing comments at the people passing him on the streets (“Easy there, Ed Hardy, put the bedazzler down, _no one wants your disco stick.”)_ or humming various songs to himself.

__ “ ♪  _ I’m on patrol, I’m on patrol ♪,”  _ Deadpool’s singing voice floated up to where Peter had been swinging along not too far ahead. Admittedly, Peter may have slowed down a tad more than normal, but it only meant he could awe his one person crowd below with his flips and tricks.

__ He did one such flip right in front of the red and black clad superhero and continued walking backwards in front of him without missing a beat.

__ Deadpool’s awed face every time he did something remotely cool was a good ego booster. It also may have been a slight incentive to do the many tricks he’d already done that night, when they’d been patrolling for less than an hour. 

__ “Spongebob, ‘Pool, really?” Peter questioned, trying the nickname on for size. 

__ Deadpool didn’t seem to care towards the shortened name, but  _ did _ , however, have strong opinions on Spongebob.

__ “It’s a timeless classic, unlike the cartoons of today!” He protested exuberantly, voice echoing into the night, “Putting all these damn fallacies in kid’s heads that everyone’s  _ special, _ where Spongebob taught us how to get through real life shit!”

__ Peter couldn’t help but laugh at that and ask, “Like what?”

__ He’d seen plenty of episodes growing up, and happened to agree with Deadpool, but he wanted to hear what he had to say. It was bound to be interesting.

“Uh, like how to be satisfied flippin’ burgers for a living even when getting shafted by a greedy money hungry boss!” He ticked up a finger for each key point, “How to use sarcasm and deflection to get through your day! How to be ugly and proud!”

__ “You know,” Peter said, just to get a rise out of Deadpool, “He wasn’t  _ actually  _ ugly. He just had eaten some-”

__ Deadpool stopped, waving his heads around his head as if to wave away Peter’s words and shushing him, “That’s my daily mantra, Spidey, don’t go bursting my solidarity bubble with SB!”

__ He continued rattling on but Peter’s attention was quickly drawn elsewhere.

__ “What’s that Lassie?” Deadpool joked at Peter’s own sudden stillness, his head turned to the side as if focusing on something far away.

__ Peter didn’t explain, just shot out a web and said “Let’s go.”

__ He propelled himself up and forward, cutting down the street and to the right. The disturbance he had been alerted to wasn’t far away, just a few blocks over.

__ As he drew closer, Peter could hear a man giving orders in a ‘hushed’ voice, the rustle of feet over broken glass, and the shifting of whatever it is they were moving. Peter climbed up and atop the building directly in front of the commotion, and silently padded forward until he could peek over the buildings edge and gaze down. 

__ “RadioShack?” Deadpool’s judgemental voice popped up next to him, “I thought they went out of business!”

__ Peter didn’t yelp, but it was a close call as he nearly jumped right out of his suit. How in the world did Deadpool climb up here so fast? And why did his senses completely fail to alert him of the other man's presence?

__ Peter, pushing his thoughts aside for later, shushed him.

__ They both quietly assessed the situation below before, surprisingly, Deadpool spoke first.

__ “Looks like they’re packing some heat,” he pointed out softly, nodding down to the two men who were on look out duty by the van they had parked haphazardly on the curb. The conspicuousness of this unsettled Peter. They weren’t masked and had their guns out for all to see, in Peter’s experience that meant they were  _ ready  _ to fight, and prepared to win it.

__ But there weren’t that many of them in the store itself, so a handful of guys, even with guns, would be easy between the two of them.

__ “They’re expecting me,” Peter glanced over at Deadpool, like it would change his opinion about going down there. 

__ Deadpool shrugged unaffected, “Most criminals these days expect a superhero or two to show up.”

__ Fair enough.

__ “This is chump change for me, Spidey,” he cracked his neck to either side, “Want me to go down there and show you what I can do? Think of it as an evaluation. You can see where I leave space for improvement.” He giggled through the last part, “You can even grade me, but, if I’m being honest, I always hope for a D.”

__ Peter shook his head resolutely, “No. We do this together, and you follow my lead.”

__ “ _ Follow my lead _ ,” Deadpool repeated in unison with Peter, “You got it, boss. Just tell me the plan.”

__ Peter felt a small thrill go through him at hearing the other man call him boss, but shoved it aside. More important things at hand, here. Peter looked back down to where they were loading up a large stereo system into the back of the van.

__ “I’m gonna web up the two guys out front, why don’t you go through the back and while I distract them you can,” Peter made the universal sign for knocking someone out, “then I’ll web ‘em up, and we’ll be on our way.”

__ Deadpool huffed, “You make fighting crime sound  _ boring _ .”

__ Peter rolled his eyes behind the mask, stepping up onto the ledge. Not everything could be explosions and theatrics, although with Deadpool involved.... He paused, one foot hanging off, ready to drop down, before asking, “You with me, Deadpool?” 

__ “God, I wish,” the red and black clad man muttered, then said louder, “Yeah, yeah, I’m with you. One boring plan, coming right up.”

__

\----

Deadpool easily broke the handle of the backdoor, making his way stealthily through the back as Peter himself dropped silently in front of the two men.

It all happened so fast the men would wake up, tied up, dazed and confused as to what had transpired. Even with their boss’ warning that Spider-Man might stop by, they’d barely have a recollection of the masked hero.

__ He was quick with his webs; two thrown to impede the use of the guns, yanking them out of their hands, then he crossed his arms, shooting his webs out and using the force of his pull to knock them together. They hit each other hard, and fell unconscious to the ground.

__ He made quick work of webbing them up, and satisfied they wouldn’t be going anywhere soon he crept closer to the store. The men inside were busy ransacking the place for whatever big ticket items they could find.

__ “Looks like I’m late to the party,” he quipped as he stepped over broken glass. His senses were on high alert, knowing they had guns and could use them at any moment. He was prepared to do some quick footwork, but the men stayed where they were, not moving, just staring at him.

__ “Did my invite get lost in the mail?” Okay so, he couldn’t be at his wittest  _ all _ the time, but their stares were unnerving him. 

__ The man who looked to be the boss (and it was just the vibe he was giving off, plus the fact he was watching them all as they worked and doing nothing to help) gave a wide smirk and said, “He’s here.”

__ Peter raised his eyebrows. Maybe he  _ had  _ been invited to the party. But for a low grade thief to be interested in Spider-Man’s appearance…it wasn’t adding up.

__ Also, where was Deadpool? All the men were distracted, looking at Peter and paying no mind to what or who would be coming up behind them. 

__ Just as Peter caught a glimpse of Deadpool along the farthest wall by the stereos, a screech of speeding tires sounded outside and two cars came pulling up to a sudden stop outside the wrecked store front.

__ “You’ve been nothing but trouble for my family,” the man Peter assumed was running the show accused, “You’ve put my brother, my cousin, and my Uncle Leo in prison.” He pulled out a gun and pointed it at Peter.

__ Peter raised his hands in surrender, not necessarily worried about one gun but more so about the half dozen or so men piling out of the cars behind him. So much for a boring simple plan.

__ “Hey, just doing my job,” Peter shrugged nonchalantly. 

__ “Yeah,” the man tilted his head, “and so were they. Left children and wives behind, who's gonna take care of them?”

__ “Listen, man. Times are rough,” he pointed at himself, “I get it. Not even getting paid for this gig. But your ‘job’ is  _ illegal.”  _

__ The man gave him a feral grin, “Yeah, Mr. Vigilante? So is  _ yours _ . You know, in my circle, we call you the Whited Sepulcher.”

__ _ Ouch. _ That was a new one.

__ Peter could feel his senses tingling as the men behind him closed in. What the hell, Deadpool?! Peter was gonna have to do some quick thinking if he didn’t want to go home looking like swiss cheese tonight.

__ The man with the gun took one step closer, threatening menacingly, “This is for-”

__ He was cut off before he could finish the sentence, or the act that was sure to follow it.

__ “We’re gonna kick your asses, now,” Deadpool taunted from his seated position on top of a rather large standing speaker, “and don’t worry, you’ll be having a family reunion  _ real soon.” _

__ Deadpool pressed something on the phone he held casually in hand, and said, “Hope you like dubstep!”

__ With that, the speakers along the back wall came to life, and a pulsating beat pounded throughout the store.

__ Peter groaned, but he couldn’t hear it over the music rattling in his skull. The music was loud, but not loud enough to mess with his senses. It was just aggravatingly noisy. 

__ Peter jumped to avoid the boss man flinging himself forward, and he scuttled along the ceiling. The man let off a few bullets, all of which Peter dodged, and dropped down behind the man as plaster rained down around them. Peter kicked him hard in the back, barreling him towards the men that had just reached the entrance of the store. He hit them with enough force to knock them back, so while they were down, momentarily at least, Peter turned to help Deadpool with the remaining men who’d been in the store. 

__ Only to find that he’d had taken care of the four men himself. Peter turned just in time to see the last guy fall unconscious to the floor, landing with a loud thump. 

__ Huh. 

__ Deadpool dusted off his hands, glancing up and giving Peter a ‘see I  _ told _ you’ look through his mask. He was amazed at how well the man could emote behind a mask full of leather. 

__ Deadpool nodded his chin in the direction behind the shorter man and said, “Need some help with that?”

__ The gang of guys had righted themselves and were making their way angrily toward them, spreading out through the aisles to bombard them.

__ “Oh, this is my favorite part!” Deadpool exclaimed as he stalked closer to them. Peter wasn’t sure if he was talking about the song, or the barrage of bad guys. 

__ As the bass pumped on, song rambling on about being an albatross and Peter wasn’t even  _ sure _ what that was, Deadpool stalked down the middle aisle. Peter took to the left side and dodged a few more bullets for his trouble. He heard some go off to his right, Deadpool’s way, but figured if he could handle four men at once he could handle a little gunfire. Peter just hoped it was gunfire from  _ them  _ and not  _ him. _

__ Peter used his web to fling a thick looking stereo at the man in front of him’s head. It ricocheted off, and while it caused a pretty sick crack to the nose, it didn’t do much else but piss him off. His hand came up to his nose, bleeding profusely, and spat, “Little spider  _ bitch _ .” 

__ “Oh, name calling,” Peter sidestepped another bullet, “how original!”

__ The man picked something off the shelf and threw it in a similar fashion as Peter. Peter avoided it easily, sensing it coming, then ducked a bullet, but the repeated assault gave the man time to move forward and be close enough to throw a punch Peter’s way. 

__ Peter back flipped away, foot coming up to snap under the man's chin and, with his already broken nose, it caused him to yowl with pain. 

__ He crumpled to the floor, dropped gun forgotten, and Peter made quick work of webbing him up. The man threw another litany of curses his way, so as he finished binding him up he webbed his mouth, too.

__ “If you don’t have anything nice to say,” Peter flicked the man on the forehead, “don’t say anything at all.”

__ Peter rose from his crouched position in front of the fallen man, but side swept quickly as a knife went sailing by. He looked up to see a man standing at the head of the aisle, closest to the broken front windows; he was grinning maniacally and held knives in his hands. 

__ “Boss made sure we stocked up,” he waggled his knives, “he wasn’t sure exactly what might work on ya.” 

__ He flipped a knife in a way he probably thought was impressive.

__ “I think we even got a guy with a can of Raid!” He cackled at his own joke. 

__ “Hahaha,” Peter laughed along dryly, “Spider jokes.”

__ He mimed wiping a tear from under his ‘eyes’, “Gets me everytime.” 

__ With that, Peter threw a web out to the middle of the man’s chest and yanked him forward. The man tried to slash through the webbing but, jokes on you guy, it was knife-proof!

__ Peter planted a hand on the guys face and used it to land in a round off behind him. 

__ The guy staggered forward but before he could turn around Peter kicked in both of his knees causing them to hit the linoleum with a crack. He webbed him up right there, and said, “Keep your buddy company. He won’t be much for conversation, though, I’m afraid.”

__ Peter finally rounded the aisle to the front of the store and focused in on Deadpool. But it didn’t seem like he needed much help. 

__ The looters were littered on the floor around him, and Deadpool was pleading, “Please, man. I’m begging you, make this harder for me!”

__ The guy swung at him and Deadpool grabbed him by the shoulders and head butted him hard enough even Peter heard the impact. Peter winced in sympathy for Deadpool’s skull but the man didn’t even flinch, just relaxed his fingers and let the unconscious man slip out of his grasp. 

__ Peter looked around but couldn’t find the head honcho anywhere. There were still a few more of his cronies, though, and they were all focused on Deadpool. 

__ “Do you want me to put my arms behind my back? ‘Cause I will!” Deadpool roundhouse kicked the man who dared to come close enough, causing him to go flying into a shelf, slumping unconscious. “I’ll even saw them off! But let me tell you, you’ll lose all street cred with your pals when they find out you’ve been beaten up by a man with baby arms!” 

__ Peter webbed a few of the men on the floor up as he passed, close enough now to grab Deadpool’s attention. 

__ “ _ Spidey,” _ he whined, “They aren’t even making it challenging.” 

__ Peter chuckled but then suddenly his sense tingled and the last bad guy was raising his gun in their direction. Peter quickly webbed a small promo shelf and used it to crash the guy to the floor. The sound of the shelf collapsing and the merchandise crashing was swallowed up by the music.

__ When was this song going to end?

__ That seemed to be all of them, Peter glanced around at the sprawled baddies. The only one still missing was-

__ “How’s  _ this  _ for challenging!” Ah, there he was. 

__ And he was standing just in the broken threshold of the store. Holding a-  _ oh shit. _

__ The man pulled the trigger crazily in their direction but Peter, having felt the tingle of danger, had already shot out a web to grab Deadpool and pull him out of the spray of bullets. 

__ Deadpool collided with Peter but with his strength he was able to take the force of the blow and stay upright. He was just about to web the gun out of the hands of the  _ crazed maniac who brought a semi automatic to a robbery _ when Deadpool shoved him down to the ground.

__ “Deadpool, wha-” he made to get up.

__ “Stay!” Deadpool growled without looking back, and stalked towards the armed man. The same man who didn’t let up on the continuous spray of bullets.

__ Peter cried out as Deadpool was clearly hit, blood and some flesh spraying with each hit. He didn’t stop in his stride toward the man, and about halfway through Peter could see the fear of a man who knew he was about to lose. Badly.

__ “Okay, now I’m pissed,” Deadpool growled, “this shirt is  _ special! _ ”

__ Deadpool yanked the gun straight out of the man’s hand, and backhanded him so hard with it the momentum caused him to do a full spin before tipping back and landing forcefully on the debris and broken glass beneath him.

__ The song aptly ended right at that moment.

__ Deadpool spun back around to look over Peter, who was rising from his position on the floor.

__ He sucked a breath through his teeth as Peter approached, “Fuck fuck fuck,  _ that stings _ . And it doesn’t feel much better healing, either.”

__ Peter watched the bullet holes he’d just acquired knit themselves back together. He reached out to touch along a tear in the other man’s suit, but Deadpool grabbed his hand before it could meet skin.

__ Their eyes met.

“How?” Peter asked, he’d never seen anything like that before. Even his healing properities weren’t  _ that  _ good.

__ “You read my file,” and yeah, he had, “Didn’t it mention my healing factor?”

__ Peter nodded his head in wonder. 

__ “Well, yeah, but…” Peter trailed off. It had, but on paper was one thing, to see it in action, in person, was another thing entirely.

__ A light squeeze against his wrist, and Deadpool simpered, “Oh baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

__ They stood there a moment longer before Deadpool let go of his wrist, it practically slid out of his grip and flopped down to his side. It felt tingly and warm where Deadpool had touched it, even through his gloves and Peter’s suit.

__ Peter cleared his throat, “I guess I should, uh, web the rest up.”

__ “And call the po-po!”

__ “Yeah,” Peter agreed. This would definitely be incriminating enough for a simple anonymous call in.

__ He finished webbing them up, asking Karen to make the call, when he saw Deadpool over at the small check out counter scribbling something down. 

__ When he looked over his shoulder he saw a name and a number written down. Deadpool tucked it under the keyboard by the computer and said, “It’s my lawyer’s number.”

__ Peter made a funny noise.

__ “What?” Deadpool asked, confused, “You don’t have superhero insurance?” 

__ Peter laughed all the way out onto the curb, and had to take a minute before throwing out a web.

__ _ Okay _ , Peter thought,  _ maybe this teaming up thing won’t be so bad after all. _

__  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Friday (I originally said Saturday, can you say exhaustion? Lol) interlude for you. Hope you have a great weekend!

Somewhere farther away, in a nearly empty mansion, a phone rang shrilly throughout its vacant halls.

Heavy booted feet stomped their way over to it, annoyed, because honestly who even had landlines anymore?

Hip propped up against the counter, and gum popping obnoxiously, she picked it up.

"Yeah?"

The voice on the other end buzzed low, and she responded, "Uh, sure, one sec."

The phone was dropped unceremoniously on the counter as she yelled, "COLOSSUS, PHONE!"

She had better things to be doing than playing receptionist. 

As she exited, off to go find her girlfriend or do whatever it was X-Men (excuse me, x- _people_ ) did all day, Colossus rounded the corner and picked it up.

"Hullo?" 

The voice buzzed again, and Colossus confirmed, "Yes, this is he."

The voice continued tinnily, a little longer this time, down the line and Colossus' mouth dropped open.

"What? No, I've never! You've got the wrong-"

More faint buzzing over the line.

"How could that be-"

He switched the phone to his other ear, as if it would change what he'd heard.

"Who?"

The voice over the phone buzzed once more before Colossus slammed it down and bellowed,

**"DEADPOOOOOL!"**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think Deadpool REALLY had 'superhero insurance' did you? LOL.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait! I started writing another fic that I'm adamantly not posting until finished, so that took over for a bit. Then the world kind of got crazy, and now I have plenty of time to dedicate to both stories as I'm not to go to work atm. I wish you all well, whether you're stuck at home or still going to work. Be healthy, be safe. I hope you enjoy this update! Let me know what you think (:

After that, working with Deadpool was almost, well, fun.

He had to remind the man _constantly_ and _consistently_ that unaliving (Deadpool’s word of choice, not Peter’s) was _not_ allowed but otherwise he made a pretty decent partner. He watched Peter’s back and was often taking his own risk’s to ensure _Peter’s_ safety, which Peter had to remind him time and time again he didn’t need to do; Peter could sense most things coming before they even happened, so Deadpool jumping in front of fists, knives, _bullets_ even, really wasn’t necessary.

It didn’t seem to stop Deadpool from doing it, however.

Plus, Deadpool could be funny as hell. He talked almost as much as Peter, and had just as many bad jokes and puns as the webslinger did. Peter had missed more than a few webbed shots solely from the fact he’d been laughing too hard.

Sure, there’d been a few mishaps in the weeks they’d been tentatively teaming up, but nothing that left anyone permanently injured or dead. Peter was counting it, so far, as a win.

It was rounding into a month of their teaming up when they had their first rooftop date.

Again, Deadpool’s words, not his.

His cheeks had flamed within his mask and his vitals must have risen so fast it prompted Karen to ask if he was alright. He reassured her he was, despite his fluttering heart.

They were sitting upon the dilapidated building they’d first met on, the one Peter had started considering as _theirs,_ munching on some authentic mexican cuisine. Deadpool had climbed up with an impossible amount of food, which meant that between the two of them would probably be just enough. They’d kicked some serious ass earlier in the night, not _one_ person injured, not even the merc himself, and Deadpool had wanted to celebrate via death by too much mexican. (He’d thought Deadpool had been joking, because most of what came out of his mouth was either inappropriate, humourous, or a mix of both, but with _this_ many tacos....)

Peter, who always had the ability to eat regardless of time or place, had thought it sounded like an awesome idea.

Once settled, Deadpool hadn’t reached for anything since putting the full bags down while Peter had already managed to devour two tacos, halfway through a third.

He had his mask rolled up to the bridge of his nose, and just happened to glance over mid-bite to notice Deadpool staring at him empty handed. 

“Thanks, ‘Pool. These tacos are freakin’ awesome,” Peter’s tongue swiped across his lower lip to grab at some stray salsa verde, “Here.” Peter handed him a wrapped taco bundle, not wanting to hog all the good food. Peter was known for falling into food hazes and when that happened he didn’t quite keep his mind on sharing.

“Glad you’re enjoying them, Spidey,” Deadpool replied hoarsely, clearing his throat as he fiddled with the aluminum of his wrapped tacos, “That’s ‘cause they’re the real deal, and not the americanized trash Taco Bell serves.”

Peter silently agreed then nodded towards Deadpool’s own untouched tacos, “They’re gonna get cold.”

Deadpool hesitated and Peter suddenly remembered the small part he’d read in his file that had mentioned disfigurement. It hadn’t gone into great detail, but perhaps it was what gave the other superhero pause.

Peter’s focus went purposefully back to his food as he said, “Man, how do you even place an order this big? They must have thought you were joking. I mean, you loaded up big time.” Peter chuckled, taking another bite. 

Deadpool hummed and his hand seemed to sway back and forth in indecision (barely noticeable, but Peter often relied on noticing the little things people overlooked; it's what kept him alive so far as Spider-Man) before finally sliding his mask up just enough to eat. _Barely_ enough to eat, Peter noticed before he remembered his vow not to look and averted his eyes. He’d gotten a glance of pale scarred skin and his eyes twitched for another look but kept steadily front.

Truthfully, Deadpool would never know if he was looking or not. Peter was able to see far into his peripheral even with his head turned forward but apparently he trusted Peter’s word. It touched Peter, just a little, and he masked his smile behind another bite of taco.

“At first,” Deadpool considered, chewing, “waving a gun around while screaming taco in spanish helped. The hefty tip might have, too, now that I think about it. Money _always_ talks. Anyway, next time I ordered, _no problemo_. That’s,” Deadpool clinked their tacos together, “how you become a number one customer.”

Okay, Peter thought, made sense except, “...taco _is_ taco in spanish.”

Deadpool froze for a moment, thinking, before shrugging, “Hmm, well whatever I was screaming worked, so eh.” He waved his taco, “Close enough.”

They continued eating in silence before Deadpool casually broke it.

“Webs, you look like you need at least a hundred more tacos in your life,” Deadpool took an obnoxiously large bite, practically the whole thing, then asked, “D’ou not g’fed ‘nuff?”

Peter watched as a piece of cilantro flew from Deadpool’s mouth and disappeared into the night. He shook his head. In response to both Deadpool’s manners and his question. Of course he got fed enough! Aunt May would never starve him, it was just…

“My...” Peter hesitated, uncertain, before deciding to continue on. It’s not like Deadpool could figure his identity out by divulging this, right? “My Aunt does a great job. She’s always done her best, ya know? It’s just, she never signed up for what comes with me being a superhero.”

He shrugged.

Deadpool was silent which meant he was either entirely too into that taco or he was waiting for Peter to continue.

Peter elaborated.

“I never told her about nearly needing double the normal caloric intake,” he shrugged again, taking a break to finish the taco in his hand, “I hadn’t really known, at first, and when I figured it out I just felt bad. She already does so much, a kick ass job, seriously. I didn’t want her worrying anymore than she already does...

“I get plenty to eat,” Peter explained quickly, not wanting Deadpool to get the wrong idea. “If I exert myself too much without eating enough, I just get irritable and tired. That’s like most people on a good day, right? I’m fine. I mean, so I can’t always eat my weight in food every day, but who can?”

He grabbed another taco as if trying to prove his own point wrong.

Deadpool, ever contrary, said, “Not a problem for me. Hell, it’s down right painful sometimes if I don’t eat enough. ‘Especially if I’ve regenerated a lot in one day, ‘cause growing the bits back works me up one hell of an appetite. Fuuuuck,” Deadpool took that moment to belch, patting his flat stomach, “then I could put a taco joint right out of business.”

“Well then,” Peter teased, scratching under where his mask was pulled up, “I’m glad I have you to fulfill my all-you-can-eat needs.” 

Peter glanced away, then, feeling awkward. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but that sentence came out flirtier than he had intended. 

Deadpool ate it right up.

“ _Oh_ ,” the other man’s voice deepened, “I can fulfill more than that, baby boy.”

“N-no,” Peter stuttered, wondering if he could backpedal this whole conversation. He held up his taco and said, “Uh, just this is fine.”

“There’s more out there than tacos,” Deadpool’s voice was near-sultry and his mask winked. Peter hadn’t even realised they were looking at each other. Eyes, er- lenses locked and tension filling the air. Peter glanced away first, and Deadpool gave a low rumbling chuckle.

“ _I mean_ there’s also chimichangas, sope, tamales; the mexican food is endless.”

Deadpool threw out a hand and sung, “ _I can show you the world.”_

Tension officially cut, Peter dissolved into laughter and shoved at Deadpool.

“How ‘bout,” Deadpool suggested, somehow closer even after Peter had shoved him away, “we continue our little rooftop rendezvous. You bring your little tush, and I bring the good shit.”

Deadpool leaned over into Peter’s space. Peter couldn’t help the smallest of inhales at the proximity.

“And by _good shit_ ,” Deadpool whispered, “I mean the food.”

Peter could do nothing but nod his head in agreeance as he coughed, that last inhale having caused him to choke on his food.

Deadpool laughed loudly, then, as if he knew exactly what had caused the episode, and thumped Peter on the back a few times. I

The laughter echoing into the night matched the echoing of Peter’s beating heart in his ears. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh!! So sorry for the wait! I started another spideypool story (which I have since posted, if you wanted to check it out!) then promptly suffered a hand injury from writing so much. lol what is life right now?! But I've healed up and inspiration hit to continue on with this. So, viola, an update! I hope you are all doing okay in these current times. Enjoy & happy reading. Let me know what you think! We're getting closer and closer to the good parts. ;)

The weekend had come and gone, and it was Sunday night before Peter knew it.

He couldn’t wait until he was eighteen and school was over so he could start his patrolling again on the weekdays. He’d abided by Aunt May’s rules mostly because he knew she could have permanently banned him from being Spider-Man, and a couple days out of the week was better than no days. But he missed it, and was filled with guilt every time something happened during the week that he could have potentially stopped. 

Plus, a very  _ very _ tiny voice in the back of his mind added, it would mean more time with Deadpool.

He was fresh out of a shower in comfy sleep pants and an old Captain America shirt, ready for bed, when Aunt May stopped him in his tracks towards his room and called him into the kitchen.

She was leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, a glass of wine beside her.

“Sit down, Peter,” she said kindly, and nodded to the kitchen chair. 

His senses didn’t pick up anything unusual, so she must not have been mad, but she was making him nervous none-the-less.

He lowered himself slowly into the chair, eyes never leaving her.

“Relax,” she smiled, grabbing her wine glass and making her way to sit across from him.

“Uh,” he started intelligently. “Whats up, May?”

She tilted her head to gaze at him, chin held up with a hand, and continued watching him with a soft, fond smile.

Now he was getting freaked out.

“Aunt May?”

“You know I’m proud of you, Peter, right?” She asked suddenly.

He nodded. It was the one thing she never let him doubt. That, and how much she loved him.

“You’ve had such great responsibility put on your shoulders, even before Spider-Man came into play,” she sighed. “We always just wanted you to feel like a normal teenager, your Uncle Ben and I.”

Wine had a tendency to make Aunt May sentimental.

“In most ways,” Peter reassured her, “I do.” He had plenty of fun times with MJ and Ned being normal teeangers; goofing off, staying up late on school nights, eating too much junk food. He just also tended to swing from buildings and save civilians routinely. He’d learned to balance the shift between normal teenager and super hero a long time ago.

Well…mostly.

She looked at him seriously for a moment and said, “Is this what you want to do, Peter? Is this who you want to be?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Do you mean Spider-Man, or Peter Parker?”

She rolled her eyes. “Well it’s not like you get much choice with the one, kiddo.”

Peter shook his head in disagreement, “Aunt May, I have to-”

She sighed, and took hold of one of his hands that had been tracing patterns absently, anxiously, on the table.

“That’s what I mean Peter, honey.” She looked at him for a moment before saying, “You always say being Spider-Man is your responsibility. I understand you want to help people Peter, and I’m so proud of you for that, but is this still making you happy? You aren’t doing it out of a sense of obligation, are you?”

Peter squeezed her hand and ignored her questions to ask one of his own.

“Where’s this coming from Aunt May?”

All of a sudden his Aunt’s eyes started to tear up, and if there was one thing Peter couldn’t handle it was a crying Aunt May. It almost always ended with them both teary-eyed and hugging.

“I’m sorry!” He cried in alarm, hoping he could fix whatever was making her upset. He certainly hadn’t meant to make her cry!

She took her hand off his briefly to wipe at her tears.

“It’s nothing you did, honey. Just been thinking a lot lately.” She sniffled, then turned back to him with a less teary expression.

“You’ll be graduating soon,” she reminded him. He nodded. Yes, in less than two months. Only three until he turned eighteen. He was a mix of wanting those months to be here already while at the same time wanting them to pass slower so he could cherish every moment.

He knew his life would be changing soon whether he liked it or not, and it was, well, scary. Intimidating. He had choices to make that he wasn’t even sure he knew the answers to. He wasn’t sure how he was going to handle going to college while being Spider-Man. He’d sent some applications out but hadn’t heard back yet. He’d sent them later than he should have. His fault for panicking and avoiding the topic altogether until the last minute.

“I want you to know that I’ll be proud with whatever you choose. But I want you to make the choice that’s best for  _ you _ , Peter. Not New York.”

He looked down at the table. Those had been the exact thoughts causing him anxiety during his whole senior year.

She patted his hand. 

“New York will still be here, whatever choice. You get to decide what’s best for your future, Peter. You need to be happy with your life before you can save anyone else’s, honey.”

Now it was Peter’s turn to get teary-eyed. 

“If that means you need a break…” Aunt May’s voice trailed off and her hand rested on his cheek for a moment before slipping away. 

He didn’t want a break, per say. He just wanted to figure out how he could manage to do both, because he wasn’t sure how he was going to make it work. He just knew deep in his heart he wanted it to.

Aunt May cleared her throat, wiped her eyes, and leaned back in her chair.

“Now that we got that sappy stuff out of the way,” she waved her hand as if waving something away, “I have one more thing I wanted to discuss.”

Peter wasn’t sure he could take anymore talking at this point, but he didn’t dare say that to her.

“I wanted to give you an early graduation present.”

Peter’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. He’d just reminded Aunt May he wouldn’t be graduating in two months…

“I know, I know.” She waved again. “It’s early but I feel you deserve it.”

She smiled knowingly at Peter’s look of confusion.

“I want to lift the ban on school nights.”

Peter’s jaw almost dropped. He hadn’t been able to go out as Spider-Man on school nights in over two years. 

“You’re speechless, I know.” She laughed. “But I figure this will give you a good start on what it will be like with college. I expect you to bring me the same grades as before, and to make sure you get to school on time.”

Aunt May shrugged, “Otherwise, the rest is up to you. You’re almost an adult, honey. I figure I should be treating you like one. Plus you’ve kept to our bargain on the rules. I trust you to make the right decisions.”

A small part of Peter twinged at the reminded of the rules. One had been no more secrets, no more lies. He still hadn’t told her about working with Deadpool. Which, besides that day asking her if she’d ever heard of him, he still had neglected to mention. He knew she had given him the seal of approval all those days ago, but she didn’t know  _ who Deadpool was. _ Which meant she had no idea her nephew was going out to help stop crime with the master of it himself. He wasn’t sure she’d approve after learning that particular fact (or learning Deadpool’s kill count…) and he had to admit that was one of the reasons he’d kept it quiet.

He found he genuinely  _ liked _ teaming up with the other man, and he didn’t want it to end.

Plus, how embarrassing would it be to tell Deadpool they couldn’t hang out anymore? When the other man would ask him why, he’d have to tell Deadpool they couldn’t team up because his Aunt said no. Superheroes didn’t have curfews or restrictions. They definitely didn’t have Aunt’s that told them who they could and could not save the world with.

But Aunt May had just given him so much freedom, so much more responsibility. 

Ben’s voice echoed in his mind and he opened his mouth to tell her, but nothing came out. He tried again—

Come on, Parker. Just tell her.

“You’re speechless, I know.” She chuckled, taking a sip from her wine glass. “But I know you deserve it. You’re a great kid, Peter. You’re going to do great things. Hell, you already do such great things.”

She got up to give him a kiss to the forehead.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful?”

He should just tell her. Tell her right now and maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“I...I promise Aunt May.” It sounded a little weak to his own ears but Aunt May just smiled at him and went to pour herself more wine.

It showed the level of trust she had in him, or how many glasses of wine she’d already had. She was usually good at bullshit detecting. He really hoped this thing with Deadpool didn’t wind up being a bad idea, or else Aunt May might just end up locking him in the house, to heck with college.

** \---- **

Peter made quick work of utilizing Aunt May’s revoke of the school night ban by going out Monday night to stop crime.

It was rather boring, to be honest.

He helped a couple work through a rough fight, with Peter mostly webbing the man’s items to safety as the women chucked them from their 9 th floor apartment building. Screaming obscenities and besmirching his name as she went.

He deposited it all in a nice pile and gave the man a weak pat on the back.

It wasn’t like Peter had much advice to give on  _ that  _ subject.

He had no way of reaching Deadpool, so he hoped just webbing around town he’d run into the man eventually.

No such luck.

He knew Deadpool didn’t patrol the streets like he did unless he was with Spider-Man, but he hoped to maybe find him at one of his sacred Taqueria’s or frequented food trucks. Even with several swing-by’s Peter didn’t see him at all that night.

He stopped an ATM robbery and walked a rather drunk man home, but found himself back at home and in bed before the clock could reach two thirty.

** \---- **

Tuesday night was similar, unfortunately. 

Still not much crime to stop, and still no Deadpool.

He swung around anyway, conversing with Karen and looking for anyone to help; keeping an eye out for any flash of red and black. 

Maybe they should have exchanged information for occasions like this, Peter thought. How would he know if Deadpool ever needed him, or vice versa. He’d been leery of exchanging numbers, but it really would have been convenient to throw a text right about now.

Although with an ability like Deadpool’s there wasn’t much need for back up, he supposed.

He ended up stopping an attempted car theft from a man who practically gave up the minute Peter landed softly behind him and tapped him on the shoulder, quipping about life choices.

It had taken Peter aback at the swift surrender, and he begrudgingly webbed up the man, having Karen call it in. He almost felt bad for it, too, but the man was blubbering so loudly Peter started up with a small ache between the eyes and hey, that’s why you don’t rob people, kids.

An hour or so later he found a stranded young man on the rooftop of his building. He’d used the roof access door to go smoke but it had accidently slammed shut behind him. He giggled obnoxiously the whole time Peter held onto him as he scaled down the building, using the time to give him his “D.A.R.E” speech (and Peter may have pilfered it straight from a school program he’d sat through once). When they were safely on ground the kid turned his red rimmed eyes on Peter’s and thanked him. 

Then promptly asked for a selfie.

Peter shrugged and posed, because why the hell not? At least he’d been thanked. He wasn’t usually on the end of pleasantries, the thugs he tied up more foul mouthed than anything. 

It wasn’t much longer after that before he made the decision to swing back home.

He’d spent these last few years missing swinging around during the week, wondering who or what he was missing out on saving. Turns out, he wasn’t missing much.

But he was still glad to be swinging around protectively anyway. It meant he would be there anytime Queens  _ did  _ need him.

** \---- **

It wasn’t until Wednesday that Peter’s swinging around turned out to be fruitfall in the Deadpool department. 

The night was young, damp with the rain they’d gotten earlier in the day, and he’d only been out for about an hour with absolutely no tingle or twitch of his senses when he heard a low whistle to his left. He quickly changed the direction of his swing to flip himself onto the opposite building to face where he’d heard the whistle.

Better safe than sorry.

Once his eyes settled on where the whistle came from, though, he knew he had nothing to worry about.

There sat Deadpool, crossed legs hanging off the side of the building. He lifted a hand and waved eagerly in greeting before beckoning him over.

Peter took a running leap off the building, webbing the taller adjacent building and using it for momentum to land softly a few feet behind Deadpool.

By the time he turned around Deadpool was already towering over him. Peter jumped in surprise, his senses hadn’t even warned him the other man had moved. 

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Itsy Bitsy.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's everyone doing?? I hope you're all well! So sorry for the wait, I hope everyone enjoys this update!
> 
> Happy reading, and let me know what you think!
> 
> (:

Peter found himself in a natural defensive position before he even realized he was moving. The combination of Deadpool sneaking up on him, and his tone, had Peter naturally assuming raised fists.

Deadpool’s mask looked at him wide eyed before the man huffed out a laugh, “Calm down, Street Fighter, not _that_ kind of bone.”

Peter lowered his fists, embarrassed. It was hard to explain that sometimes his senses took over when they felt threatened. He’d find himself on top of the ceiling when surprised, or dodging away if he felt threatened before he even knew what was coming. 

He didn’t know how to explain that Peter may have trusted the other masked man to never hurt him, but his senses didn’t always work that way.

Deadpool didn’t seem to need any explanation, however, and had reached into one of his pouches and extracted what looked like a brand new smartphone while Peter had been working through that internal thought process.

He shoved it accusingly in Peter’s direction.

“What is _this?”_ He pointed towards it with a gloved finger.

Deadpool edged closer, so close that Peter’s mask could barely see the screen clearly.

“You’re too close, DP! I can’t see it.” Peter explained exasperated. “W-what is it?”

What could it be? A picture of Spider-Man unmasked? Had Deadpol found out about his secret identity? Peter felt dizzy with the thoughts that zipped worryingly through him on what that tiny screen could possibly hold.

Deadpool made a small “oh” sound, and backed away, phone still thrust out towards Peter but now at a distance that didn’t have his eyes crossing.

“YOU tell ME!” Deadpool nearly shouted, accusing, “‘cause it looks an awful lot like a selfie to _me.”_

“Now,” Deadpool slid up to a stunned Peter, arm wrapping around him to pull him close so they could both gaze at the photo, and now Peter could see it and recognize it for what it was. It _was_ a selfie. Well, sort of. It was the picture he’d taken with that stoner kid he’d rescued the other day. “What are you doing taking selfies with rando’s before you’ve even taken one with your good old pal _and number one fan_ , ‘Pool?”

“Well I mean— _technically_ it’s not a selfie—It wasn't like I—” Peter stammered, suddenly feeling bad for something he hadn’t even known to feel bad about!

Deadpool ignored the technicality and sighed dejectedly, “I get it, no freebies. Even for friends. Bills to pay, and all that.” The muscular leather-clad arm slid off his shoulders.

Peter’s stomach did a weird flip at that word out of Deadpool’s mouth, but the other man hardly noticed and rambled on, “So how much do you want for one, kid? Is it extra if I want it signed?”

With that said, Deadpool was pulling out a wad of bills and shuffling through them.

“Name your price, kid! It won’t even go online, I promise. It’ll be for my,” he stopped counting as he leaned in towards Peter and whispered, eyebrows raising suggestively through the suit, “ _private collection.”_

That snapped Peter out of it. Whatever his heart had been doing wildly at Deadpool’s proximity fizzled out and he shoved him away in disgust. _After_ his heart did one last thump and his body warmed at the innuendo, of course. 

The shove only caused Deadpool to laugh. “Kidding about that last part,” Deadpool reassured. Then turned his head to the right, head cocked, eyebrow raised, and asked, “Or am I?”

Peter glanced over to where Deadpool was looking but no one was there. “...Who are you talking to?”

“Our readers _, duh._ They know what’s up.” More eyebrow waggling.

Peter shook his head at Deadpool’s antics and continued on with the matter at hand.

“Deadpool, listen, you don’t—”

“Oh! Does a spidey-pic only come with a complementary saving? ‘Cause I can be a damsel in distress!”

With that Deadpool took off running towards the edge of the building, presumably to leap off, with a “I’ll damsel the _shit out of you—”_

Peter resisted the urge to pinch his nose in frustration because _that didn’t even make sense._ He webbed Deadpool quickly, before the man could splat unnecessarily to the ground below, and tugged him back over to where he’d just previously been standing.

He righted himself, dusting himself off as he threw Peter a “what gives?” look.

Peter really did sigh then and clench his nose over the mask, so reminiscent of Aunt May when _he_ was in trouble that he quickly dropped his hand. He got that feeling too often when he was around Deadpool. He crossed his arms instead.

“Deadpool, if you wanted a picture together all you had to do was _ask.”_

A few seconds of processing silence went by before an excited squeal filled the night air.

“Really?” Deadpool gushed, coming up to Peter spewing ideas, “Would it be too much to ask to incorporate a few props? Maybe a costume change? Keeping the masks, of course.” Deadpool tapped and swiped at his phone, “You know I’ve always wanted to do one of those old school pictures, like they offer at the boardwalks. I really feel like I could pull off an _ah-mah-zing_ saloon girl. With you as the Sheriff, of course. I even have the—”

Peter couldn’t help but blush as Deadpool rambled on, imagining him in a dress over that costume, barely fitting over those muscles. The thought had him flustered, and then freaking slightly at the fact a thought like _that_ could possibly seem sexy and had even just _crossed his mind._

Deadpool’s weirdness was definitely rubbing off on him.

“H-How about just in our regular costumes for now?” He suggested, hoping the topic wouldn’t arise again. Although he knew Deadpool better now, and it would only be a matter of time before it was brought up once more.

Peter threw a quick web out, showing off, to snatch the phone out of Deadpool’s hand and switched it over to the front facing camera. Peter turned around to click a quick picture of them but Deadpool was crowding up behind him to grab at the phone before he could take a look at it.

“No, no,” Deadpool ruled the picture out with a determined shake of his head, focused on the screen, “That’s _not_ my angle.” He paused then and looked up as he said, as if to assure Peter, “Don’t _you_ worry, Spidey. Every angle is your angle. You look perfect as always.”

Peter blinked, unsure of how someone in a mask could possibly have a _good_ angle, but went along with it. Then flushed at the straightforward compliment.

They posed a few different ways until they finally found a good one. Deadpool ended up draped along Peter’s shoulders, holding the phone up and out, and Peter threw up a peace sign because- well, now he realized how lame that kind of was, actually.

But Deadpool was a distractedly warm wall of bulk along his back and shoulders, and it was awkward to pose for a picture in a suit when your face couldn’t emote, he found. So he’d just thrown up a hand for something to do, really.

Deadpool _loved_ it.

“Oooh, that’s a keeper,” he nearly cooed at the screen, squishing it to his face before rounding it towards Peter. “Look at us!”

Peter glanced at the screen and… yeah, it actually _was_ a pretty good photo of the two of them.

He just barely stopped himself from asking Deadpool to send it to him.

Yeah, _that_ wouldn’t be a wise idea. Letting Deadpool have Peter Parker’s personal phone number. He’d learned early on that Deadpool might act like a goofball sometimes ( _alot of the time_ , his mind supplied), but he was far from dumb. He had no doubt that if Deadpool had that information he could connect the dots and find out who was behind the Spider-Man suit in a heartbeat.

But something in him also knew that Deadpool _wouldn’t_ do it, if he asked.

Was that what trust felt like?

He didn’t usually feel it when he was in the suit. The only one he trusted wholeheartedly to have his back was Karen, and of course, Ned; but only one of them came with him on his nightly outings.

Trusting Deadpool…

It gave him a feeling he wasn’t quite sure how to describe, and he decided he didn’t want to look into it further. He was ready to patrol, and had _been_ on patrol before seeing Deadpool which, he reminded himself, had been the plan to begin with.

“Let’s go patrol,” Peter suggested. Deadpool looked up from his stargazing at the photo and just shrugged one shoulder, then pocketed the phone and agreed with a simple, “Alright.”

Peter made for the edge of the building, ready to launch off and release his webs, but as he passed Deadpool he was hung up by the man pinching the fabric at the back of his suit.

“Hold up there, Spider-Babe.” The eyes of Deadpool’s mask squinted suspiciously at Peter.

Peter shrugged him off, “Don’t call me that and _what now?”_

He wondered if they were going to get to patrol at all tonight, what with how Deadpool was acting.

“It's the middle of the week,” Deadpool continued slowly.

Peter nodded, agreeing, “Yeah, it is.” 

There Deadpool went, not letting anything get past him unless he allowed it. Sometimes Peter wondered if this goofy persona was an act, when he could clearly be so tactical and astute. He hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask about Deadpool’s backstory yet, beyond what he’d read in those files all those weeks ago. He’d been afraid to ask, knowing that the questions could easily bounce back to him; for his own origin story and coming-up-hero tale. He wasn’t quite ready to divulge those things, yet.

Anyway, now that he had Deadpool in front of him, ready to patrol on a random Wednesday, he hadn’t exactly rehearsed how he was going to explain his sudden appearance during the week.

He sure wasn’t going with the truth:

_My Aunt finally let me out on a school night, and my first thought was to find you and tell you so we could patrol together!_

Lame, first of all, and _way_ too telling. He hadn’t exactly disclosed his age to the other superhero yet and why should he? He didn’t tell his archenemies his age, and that didn’t stop him from kicking their ass.

If he didn’t tell Deadpool, so what? They could still save people together. It didn’t matter how old he was, only that he was able to have Deadpool’s back. Which he did. The minute he’d gotten his super powers he’d stopped being a typical teenager, anyway. 

“I uh…” Alright, think Parker.

God, he was so bad at lying.

“I get it,” Deadpool echoed from earlier, coming closer, “Isn’t it hitting the end of semester or something? You finished your work like the studious little college boy you are, and can swing around more. _Schweet!_ I’m glad you swung by, Webs, ‘cause I’m not normally out here either.”

Thank God for Deadpool’s assumptions.

“Y-yeah, that’s it.” His workload _was_ a little lighter at the moment and he was _almost_ in college, that counted right? 

Wait a minute…

His turn to be suspicious. He knew Deadpool took jobs Peter couldn’t control, but he never worked in the city. Or so Deadpool had told him. Had he been lying?

“Why are _you_ out here?” Peter asked as he crossed his arms again, lenses mimicking his eyes as they narrowed behind his mask suspiciously. “Not for a job, I hope?”

Deadpool crossed his heart and threw up that damn boy scout salute again.

“I promise you, Spidey. Just out gaining a little intel for a mission I was sent on. No cracked noggins or unaliving in your city, swearsies.”

Peter looked the man in front of him up and down before sighing. It didn’t seem like Deadpool had killed anyone. The merc, he’d learned, was messy when he did things like that. So, he had no choice but to trust his word, and found he really did believe him.

“Alright,” Peter conceded. “Well, I’ll be free during the weeknights now so if you wanted…”

He left the sentance trail off, realizing it sounded stupid.

Do you want to be my patrol partner? Check yes or no.

“If I _want?”_ Deadpool asked, voice rather deep, “Baby boy, I _always_ want _.”_

Peter felt a shiver run through him even as he warmed from the lower octave of Deadpool’s voice. He stalked closer, and Peter froze like a deer in headlights.

Only for Deadpool to boop him on the nose, normal voice back, “But only if I’m not away on business. Daddy needs to make some money, ‘cause vigilantism pays _shit.”_

There was that careless attitude again, and Peter was getting whiplash at how Deadpool could turn it on and off so fast.

“Actually, it pays _nothing_ ,” Peter corrected in a grumble, rubbing at his nose through the mask. 

“Exactly!” Deadpool chuckled, making his way over to the fire escape. He turned to descend the ladder. “Someone’s gotta be the breadwinner here. Or else I’m afraid you’ll starve otherwise!”

Peter’s stomach growled as if that had been a damn cue.

Deadpool cackled, then slipped fast out of view, down the side of the ladders, ignoring the rungs, with a “Let’s gooooooooooo!”

Peter rolled his eyes and finally took that running leap.

He’d wanted more Deadpool time, hadn’t he? They always said be careful what you wish for.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! I hope you've been well! I've started a few other stories since this one and been trying to take turns with all of them.  
> We're starting to get deeper into the plot with this chapter, so I hope you enjoy the direction it eventually takes.  
> As always, happy reading and please feel free to tell me what you think! ❤️ I adore your comments.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads, subscribes, kudos, anything and everything. It inspires & motivates me!

Graduation, and subsequently Peter’s birthday, was approaching quickly.

The days were blending together in a whirlwind of end of school and crime fighting.

Peter had lost track of the amount of crimes he and Dadpool had managed to stop together, or the amount of tacos they’d devoured. The weekdays were often slower, criminals seemed to think the weekend was the more lucrative time to commit crimes, and so during the parts of the weekdays that seemed to drag on they’d eat take out together. Peter never said no to food, and Deadpool ate almost as much as the teen did, so it worked out well for both of them.

This was one such time, both of them sitting along the ledge of a tall building, feet dangling, a bag of food between them. Both of their masks were pushed up to their noses, Peter long since having gotten used to the scars beneath Deadpools, and Peter found himself laughing at an outlandish story Deadpool was telling.

Deadpool’s stories were often funny, Peter found, even if he sometimes had to chime in disapprovingly to the gorier parts of his tales. Deadpool never censored himself and took all of Peter’s criticisms without a word of rebuttal. It seemed as if he really did want to change and a part of Peter’s heart swelled at the fact he had a part in helping the man.

Peter wiped stray crumbs from his lips before reaching into the bag for another burger, Deadpool’s take-out food choice this evening surprisingly, and jolted back as if shocked when he felt his hand brush against Deadpool's own attempting to reach in.

He glanced up in surprise at Deadpool, a blush burning along his cheeks, before remembering the bottom half of his face was exposed, and so the other man could see the flush as it spread across his face. Peter looked away from nerves, but then worried about how quickly he’d looked away, and wondered if Deadpool noticed his reaction. He attempted to relax and act like nothing happened. They hadn’t even brushed skin, he thought frantically to himself. Both of them still had the gloves of their suits on, although it felt near electrical despite that.

It’d been happening more lately. Not the brushing of hands, but that feeling along Peter’s skin. Even when he didn’t brush up accidentally against the other man, just being in his presence was enough to have this charged feeling, like lightning waiting to strike, gather beneath his skin. Peter’s breath would quicken, then, and his heart would race.

The first time it had happened Peter was sure he was having a panic attack, and fumbled into a quick crouch, head between his knees, as he attempted to control his breathing.

When Deadpool had noticed with a “and then we— _woah Spidey you okay!?”_ and dropped down beside him it had only made it worse. The heat that came from the leather clad form next to him was distracting in the worst way, and the hand along his shoulder had felt the opposite of steadying. Peter had glanced over at him, as he willed his heart to calm, only for it to race at how close Deadpool’s face had been to his.

It hadn’t taken many more instances of _that_ to realize Deadpool was definitely the thing causing these attacks in Peter.

Peter unwrapped his burger, still hungry despite the fluttering the brush of hands had caused in his stomach. He wasn’t actually sure what was going on. The only other person he’d felt remotely similar feelings with was MJ, and even then he’d never felt them with this much intensity. 

“Earth to Spidey? _Hello, Spider-Man_?” Deadpool’s voice drifted through his reverie and he turned to look at him. He’d been engulfed in his thoughts longer than he thought; long enough that Deadpool had clearly grown tired of his lack of response.

“Sorry, I uh, was thinking about something,” Peter responded vaguely. No way was he going to admit just what or _who_ , rather, he’d been thinking about.

Deadpool smirked, “Well, it must have been something _pretty_ good. You didn’t even hear the end of my story, and let me tell you it was _killer_.”

Peter groaned at the pun. “I told you, Deadpool, I don’t want to hear those stories!”

Deadpool pouted, “But they’re the best ones!”

Peter shook his head and argued, “You have to have ones that don’t involve killing!” 

“Sure I do,” Deadpool shrugged. “They’re all just boring.”

Peter rolled his eyes, although the motion was lost to the other man. He settled for a disapproving shake of his head.

“I highly doubt anything you get up to is boring, Deadpool.” He glanced over to see the other man smiling oddly at him.

“What?” Peter asked, and he willed his blush to stay down. He cursed his fair skin and it’s proneness to reddening at the slightest things.

“You’ve got—”

Deadpool reached out with a leather thumb and swiped at the corner of Peter’s mouth. It caressed the barest bit across the side of his lower lip, and before Peter could even process what had happened Deadpool brought the thumb up to his own lips so his tongue could lick at what was there.

“Peter, your heart rate just skyrocketed. Is everything alright?” Karen’s voice made him jump slightly and it didn’t help his already hammering heart.

He ignored her, not wanting to reply out loud in front of Deadpool, and Peter couldn’t tamper down his blush this time. It felt like it spread from the inside out, scorching through his whole body. He felt himself react from the sensation and he jumped up in surprise. Not here. No. Not _now_.

“I, uh,” Peter stammered as Deadpool looked up at him in bewilderment. He’d moved so fast he’d barely felt it, had hardly _thought_ about it.

The burger hung forgotten in his hand, a tomato precariously close to slipping out as he thought of an excuse, any excuse.

“I just remembered I have a thing!”

“A… thing.” Deadpool’s voice repeated, baffled.

“Yes, a, uh, important thing. Can’t believe I forgot about it! I have to go. Do it. The thing.”

Deadpool continued to stare at Peter, but after a moment he shrugged and nodded, "Alright, Spidey."

Peter barely registered it though as he was already lunging into a swing, one handed extended, the other still holding his burger as he shouted, “I’ll see you later, DP!”

He didn’t look back, but he was sure Deadpool was still sitting on the ledge Peter had just vacated, feeling just as confused as Peter was.

What the hell was going on with him?!

\----

Peter hadn’t meant to let it all slip out to Ned the next day, but he was his _best friend_ , okay? There wasn’t much Ned didn’t know at this point, ever since he found out about Spider-Man. Peter knew the universe would find a way to let Ned know whether he liked it or not. It always seemed to, anyway. Better for Ned to find out from him now, then when he inevitably found out from Peter crawling in through his bedroom window after a night spent with Deadpool.

Peter paused in his thinking abruptly. That thought hadn’t sounded right. He just meant that life always managed to find a way to let Ned in on the things Peter tried to keep secret. This was no different. He hadn’t meant a night _with_ Deadpool, not like that—

Peter groaned and banged his head against the cafeteria table.

Even his own thoughts were a jumbled mess. 

“What’s got you all emo today?” Ned asked, looking up from his task of peeling a banana.

For some reason these kinds of conversations always happened while they were eating fruit.

Peter looked out the large windows that surrounded the school's green courtyard, still fighting with himself. Did he tell Ned and deal with his overreacted but perhaps insightful advice? Or did Peter go this alone and see how he made out by himself?

Neither sounded like solid plans.

“Have you ever…” Peter drifted off, eyes still not leaving his gaze upon the courtyard. Quite a few students were taking their lunch out there despite the rise in temperature.

They were heading straight into summer, less than a month until graduation, and the days were changing from mild to hot rather quickly for this time of year. 

Ned bit into his banana and let Peter gather his thoughts. For as much as Ned liked to talk he was really good at letting Peter take time to figure out what he wanted to say. 

“... liked someone without really knowing them?”

Ned blinked confused for a minute before swallowing, then said, “Isn’t that the whole point of dating? You like someone then get to know them to see if you’re compatible?”

He took another bite.

Peter shook his head. That hadn’t been what he meant, really.

“I mean more like… without _seeing_ them.”

Ned finished up his banana, placing the peel down on a napkin, then folded his hands across the table as if prepared to give a speech.

“So you mean you like someone but you’ve never seen what they look like?”

That wasn’t exactly what he meant, either, but it was close enough. Peter nodded and bit at his bottom lip worriedly. Butterflies swooped in his stomach at the tiny admittance. Especially out loud to someone else. To _Ned._

Ned laughed suddenly, breaking Peter from his worried, spiraling thoughts. 

He glanced at Ned, hurt and a little confused.

“Uh, _hello_ , Peter,” he said as soon as his laughter died down. “How do you think _blind people_ fall in love?”

Well, he hadn’t really thought of it like that.

The word _love_ out of Ned’s lips caused his face to burn. No one had said anything about love!

“It’s the personality you fall for, Peter. For who they really _are._ ” Ned's smile loosened the tension Peter felt growing in his stomach. 

He trusted Ned to always have his back. They were best friends, after all. If anyone understood and could help him figure out what he was feeling, it was him.

“Even if,” Peter started in a small voice, eyes down at the white of their cafeteria table, “they’re a possibly crazy attempting-to-reform murdering mercenary assassin?”

The continued silence after his question had his eyes flickering up timidly to inspect Ned’s reaction.

Ned gaped at him from across the table. Their eyes locked and his mouth floundered like a fish before finally stuttering out, “Y-you mean…”

Peter thunked his head back down along the table. He nodded and his forehead squeaked it’s journey along the plastic.

“Not _Dea_ —”

“Don’t say it,” Peter groaned. Not outloud, not here. He wasn’t entirely sure Deadpool wasn’t similar to Beetlejuice; although there was a good chance saying it just once would do.

He didn’t want to chance it.

“ _You can’t be serious_.” Ned’s voice was as incredulous as his expression.

Peter shrugged morosely from his hunched position. “I don’t know, Ned! That’s why I came to you! I just know I feel… _something_ … when I’m with him.”

“Um.” Ned told him, “I don’t have much experience with this one, Peter. The closest I’ve come is that one time I talked with a girl from Norway on Omegle and we texted for a month. Then I found out it was really a guy who wanted me to Western Union him money.”

Peter cringed. He remembered that. She’d been his phone’s wallpaper for weeks. Ned had been heartbroken. 

He didn’t want advice, exactly. He just needed another brain to help him figure out what was going on. Each time he saw Deadpool the feeling seemed worse and stronger than the last. He wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t some reaction because of his and Wade’s mutation. It wasn’t like he spent much time with other supers, and although Tony _was_ a superhero, and wildly genius, none of that was attributed to a mutation. So Peter couldn’t count those interactions.

He explained his theory to Ned.

“So… You think you got the hots for Deadpool because you got bit by a spider?” 

Peter shushed him furiously and glanced around. But no one was paying attention to them, as usual, and MJ had dropped in earlier just long enough to steal a few things off their trays before backing away with a menacing glare.

She could be frightening at times.

Peter held his breath, waiting for Deadpool to spring up at the utterance of his name, but after a moment or two of no red and black sightings Peter let out a large, relieved exhale.

“I’m saying,” Peter explained quietly, “that I think my increased time and proximity with Deadpool may have something to do with it. I never felt it all those times before!”

“Peter,” Ned suggested hesitantly, “Do you think maybe you just li—”

“I wonder if there’s something in his blood,” Peter pondered, brain already in science mode and barely registering what Ned had been trying to say. “Maybe there’s something in my radioactive genes that reacts from the presence of his mutated ones. I wonder if I can get a sample... I bet Mr. Stark would let me use his lab if I said it was for a science experiment.”

Ned’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “Woah, Peter. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Peter shook his head, “I won’t just jab him with a needle, Ned. Deadpool dies, like, a hundred times a week. I’ll pick a time when he’s out for the count and do it then. I… I would ask him but I don’t want to—”

He’d barely had the courage to admit it to Ned. He couldn’t even _imagine_ explaining it to Deadpool. He’d die of mortification. He glanced up at his friend with his best pitiful expression, and knew he understood when Ned rolled his eyes upward and sighed heavily.

“You’re gonna need needles, then, I guess,” Ned said reluctantly after a moment or two; and Peter could already tell his friend’s brain was conjuring up ways for them to swipe some. It was often convenient his Aunt was an ER nurse, especially since he’d become Spider-Man.

Peter smiled, relieved to have Ned’s help.

He really had the best friend any spider could ask for.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤️ update for the lovely people who still follow and eagerly await an update for this story! I'm sorry it's so slow going but I promise I am still brainstorming and writing for this fic.  
> Still unbeta'd but gone over (at least) a dozen of times by me. If you see anything glaringly obviously let me know!
> 
> Otherwise, enjoy and leave a comment with what you think will be happening next!  
> (I think you'll all enjoy it 😏)

The syringe he’d managed to nick from the hospital (with the help of Ned, of course, distracting his Aunt and the other nurses on last night) was practically burning a hole in his suit.

Peter had yet to see any sign of Deadpool. Which was pretty typical, as he often showed up randomly most days, but today especially Peter cursed his own rule of not letting Deadpool have his personal number. There was a chance he might not even see the merc at all and he’d be stuck carrying it around all night; syringe burning hot like a brand against his skin where he’d hidden it as best as he could within his suit. If he didn’t get to use it today it meant he would have to bring it with him every time he patrolled until Deadpool showed up. That’s _if_ he found the opportunity to use it. A thought that didn’t exactly comfort Peter. 

It just reminded him of what he was preparing to do, which both terrified him and excited him. Excitement from the general opportunity to science, like how he normally felt when he found a new way to tweak and advance his web fluid. Terrified because, well, wasn’t it obvious? Deadpool had a track record. A reputation. An unofficial page in the Guinness world record for most ruthless kills, with an even more ruthless, unstable personality to match. And Peter was about to attempt to draw blood from him...

He gulped, swallowing despite the dryness that had plagued his mouth from anxiety. No, Peter had no other choice. He had to figure out what was going on between him and Deadpool. He knew there was a reason. He was a scientist at heart and as such his brain demanded to find it, the reason behind the recurring phenomenon that only seemed to happen when in the presence of the older man. 

A part of Peter, a _teeny tiny_ part he had shoved down way, way deep, wondered if there might be any _other_ reason for why he would be feeling these things; these feelings that felt similar yet so foreign, much more powerful and stronger than with Liz or even MJ. But that part within Peter stayed buried and as such he soldiered on with his current hypothesis.

He would gather blood from Deadpool and take it to Stark Labs. They’d have more than enough equipment to help him figure it out, Peter was sure of it. 

So deep in his spiraling thoughts about Deadpool and when he was going to run into him, he didn’t notice when the man in question was _actually_ in front of him. Peter swung past an indignantly shouted “Hey!”, catching the tail end of the hollered word and he turned his head to see a figure waving wildly from the building he’d just swung by. He froze up at the familiar sight of red and black and a cold wave crashed over him; now that Deadpool was here there was a greater potential of getting his sample tonight. Consumed by that realization and startled by Deadpool’s sudden appearance, Peter nearly forgot to throw out a web in time to avoid the building he was swinging towards.

His spider-senses saved the day, warning him with enough time. He yelped and just managed to avoid becoming a splat on the brick. He circled back to where Deadpool was and landed softly on the roof just a ways in front of him.

“I was waving at you, Spidey... I thought you were gonna keep swinging!” Deadpool pouted as he walked closer. 

Peter chuckled nervously and his hand migrated up to tug at his curls out of habit. His hand jerked awkwardly as he stopped it mid way, remembering that he had his suit on and therefore currently didn’t have any hair free to run his hands through anxiously at the moment. 

Peter cursed his honest nature. It was so hard for him to lie or be deceitful; it was like the lie ran through his head so much he was constantly aware of it, afraid the _other_ person was aware of it too, and so it caused him to act stilted and awkward. 

“Sorry, I was uh, lost in thought,” Peter told him. Better to stick as close to the truth as possible, he’d learned. 

Deadpool waved the apology away with a hand. “No worries, Webs. I’m just glad you circled back. Hate to say, but our story line’s gonna have to be put on hiatus. I’ll be going away for a bit, so I was hoping to get in as much Spider-Man time as possible before I’m shipped out.”

Peter’s heart simultaneously dropped and soared; he felt both oddly relieved and saddened by the thought of Deadpool being absent from his nightly rounds; on one hand it meant he’d get a reprieve from the feelings plaguing him in the man's presence but on the other it meant _no Deadpool_. He wouldn’t hear the telltale sign of Deadpool’s arrival via catcall, or his ego-boosting compliments and admittedly hilarious running commentary. He’d just be swinging around New York like before- annoying Karen until he finally picked up something worth pursuing. 

Another part of what Deadpool said registered with him after that initial process, and he couldn’t help but feel pleased. It seemed Deadpool wanted to make sure they spent his remaining time before leaving together. A warmth spread through Peter’s chest.

“When—,” Peter cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “When are you going?”

 _For how long?_ He wanted to add but didn’t. 

Deadpool hummed in question, arms crossing. 

“Well,” he said, “don’t quite got all the deets yet. They don’t like to give me too much info beforehand, ya know? I’m what they call a,” he uncrossed his arms to air quote the next words, “loose cannon.” He shrugged, unbothered. “I guess the less information I have the better.”

Peter felt the words he hadn’t wanted to say leave his lips. “So, uh, you don’t know how long you’ll be gone?”

Deadpool moved to lean up against the edge of the building to Peter’s right, swaying closer into his space.

“Why? Gonna miss me?” he asked, voice teasing. 

Peter blushed, but before he could stammer out some sort of response to that Deadpool was already answering him. “Could be as short as a week, but I’ve been gone for months before. No way of knowing until the time comes.”

Peter looked down at his feet. There wouldn’t be a way for Deadpool to contact him before he left, either. Which meant Peter had no way of knowing how long until he’d be back.

A feeling like the bottom of his stomach had dropped out suddenly overtook him. 

Deadpool could potentially be gone past his birthday. Past his graduation. 

Peter gritted his teeth, mad at himself. It wasn’t like he could tell Deadpool either of those things, let alone talk about them with him anyway. So he wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, suddenly. 

“Hey,” Deadpool repeated again but softer this time. “I’ll be back, okay? I always come back. I’ll definitely be ready to fight crime with my favorite arachnid. I’ll be starved for some good company, believe you me. The people they send me with aren’t exactly the funsy type.”

Peter wasn’t sure why but hearing that made him feel a touch better. Knowing Deadpool would be eager to come back to fighting crime with him caused his stomach to flutter weirdly, a reaction he’s felt before, and suddenly just like that the thought of what he needed to do today was back in the forefront of his mind.

Voice lost, he could only nod in reply. 

Peter continued to second guess his plan. Could he get what he needed, and before Deadpool left? What if it didn’t go as planned? What if Deadpool got so upset at him he _didn’t_ come back? 

Peter didn’t like the thought of that and so he shoved it away. No, everything would go as planned and Deadpool being away actually worked in his favor. It meant he could take time to really figure out what was going on, and why, even now, these reactions were happening to him. Hopefully by the time he came back Peter would have the answer and a solution.

“Well,” Peter finally said, after a beat of too-long silence, “I’ll make sure New York is still here for you to come back to.”

The expression on Deadpool’s face, even with the mask, was a little too telling and Peter looked away as his stomach continued to flip.

“We should…” Peter jerked a thumb over his shoulder to point into the darkness beyond, eager to get back to patrolling if only to get away from this rooftop and the emotions swirling inside him.

“Right,” Deadpool nodded eagerly with an added fist pump. “Let’s go do some hero-ing!”

Peter shook his head as he climbed up onto the ledge, ready to throw out a web, lips quirked into a tiny smile. 

He’d miss Deadpool’s quirkiness that’s for sure.

**\----**

The night was starting off slow and Peter was starting to get anxious.

Scratch that, he hadn't actually _stopped_ worrying since the beginning of this night, so really his anxiety was starting to get anxious. 

“By the way,” Deadpool piped up after a few blocks, voice echoing into the quiet street as he caught up with Peter, who was chilling on a lamppost. Peter was straining his senses for any little blip of something awry. 

_Nothing_.

He glanced down as Deadpool came to a halt below him.

“I totally get what yesterday was about, you know.”

His grip on the lamppost faltered in a seize of panic and he nearly fell. Instead of righting himself he made it look like he meant to do it and dropped down into a flip to land in front of Deadpool, who whispered an awestruck _“so cool”_ just a second after Peter stuck the landing. 

“You do?” Peter said in a voice a little too high as he straightened. He was thankful he’d tweaked his voice modulator _just_ a tad after that first Deadpool meeting to be just a bit more deep. It wasn’t drastic but it definitely helped him sound older, at least while wearing the mask, and now it helped disguise the pitch of his distressed voice.

“Totally,” Deadpool said nonchalantly and Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Was he saying what Peter thought was saying? That he was feeling these same strange things too…?

“You forgot if you left the stove on, didn’t you?” he asked Peter, the whites of his mask wide as he waited for Peter’s answer.

“Oh, uh…” 

Deadpool, sensing his unease, laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be embarrassed, Spidey. Happens to me _all_ the time.”

Peter laughed nervously, the hand on his shoulder a warm, heavy, _distracting_ weight. 

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered out. “You got me. That was it.”

Deadpool’s hand slipped off his shoulder to give him a triumphant finger gun. “Knew it! Next time don’t be so hasty. You can let the old ‘Pool know. No judgements here, baby boy. I’ve _literally_ forgotten my head before.”

Peter… didn’t quite know what to say to that.

But he didn’t have to because suddenly there was the distant sound of automatic firepower and panicked shouting. It was far enough away that Peter wondered if Deadpool could hear it. As far as he knew his list of powers didn’t include ‘super hearing’. 

“Do you—”

“Hear that?” Deadpool finished for him, head turning towards the noise. He nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

Peter didn’t have a chance to be surprised as he quickly followed after a sprinting Deadpool. 

**\----**

For all that the night had started quietly it certainly didn’t end that way.

Somehow they’d stumbled upon something that was quickly turning fast, furious and dangerous. They’d followed the shouts and gunfire, taken out a way, to the deserted edge of this particular part of town. They were down near a dockyard which, as far as Peter knew, nobody actually docked in anymore.

They snuck up on the group, finding a hiding spot behind a rusted, long forgotten ship container. At one point this must have been a popular spot for ships, but now it was run down and abandoned, forgotten in the way most places were once a bigger and better spot had been found. There were still parts of ships laying about, which provided not only the perfect cover for them, but also a great meeting spot for the group of men in front of them.

Crates were placed in between the two groups, a clear deal taking place. One of them was cracked open, crowbar still in the man's hand. It seemed that they had been expecting more than what they’d actually been given and Peter knew from experience (and perhaps a few too many action movies) that it wasn’t going to end well.

They’d arrived in the whirlwind of indignant objections turned into tearful cries of innocence. The man who had been selling was on his knees on the ground, hands raised shakily, while his men were held at bay with guns trained on them. The buyer, a rather lean gentleman dressed far too nice for the occasion, was looking down at the sniveling man in front of him in disgust as he pleaded.

“I-I swear everything is in there. Exactly what we agreed on. I wouldn’t swindle you, Jimmy. _Honest._ Y-your family’s been buying from us for years,” he continued to stammer out as fast as he could, as fast as his thoughts seemed to come to him. “Even—even your father bought from us! Never once had a problem. I s-swear, Jimmy.”

Jimmy started to nod as if this made sense. “You’re right. My dear old Dad was pretty content doing business with you. I’d even say he liked you.”

The man nodded in agreement, still shaking like a leaf. “I liked your Dad, too!”

The gentleman named Jimmy started to laugh, looking around at his men. They started chuckling, too, but their grip on their guns never strayed.

Abruptly Jimmy’s laughter stopped, mouth pressed into a thin, hardset line as he glared down at the kneeling man.

“I didn’t,” said Jimmy simply. 

He slipped his hands into his pocket and strolled around the remaining crates, nodding his head for his men to crack them open. The noise was loud in the silence of the night as they used crowbars to pry them open.

Jimmy continued talking as they rifled through the contents.

“See, Walter,” he spoke dangerously from behind the man, Walter, who kept his gaze straight upon the water, seemingly frozen in fear. “I didn’t much care for my father, James Sr.” 

He got a head shake from one of the men who had finished counting and he tsked, the sound loud in the middle of their arms deal standstill.

“It wasn’t because he missed my little league games,” he told him as he continued to walk around. Walter’s men fidgeted as Jimmy passed them, clearly not happy with the way this deal was going down. 

Deadpool snickered from next to Peter, who shushed him quietly. They needed to figure out how to de-escalate this while it was still calm, because Peter’s senses were telling him this was about to go south fast.

“Or because he had a mean streak a mile wide that seemed to revolve around my mother and I.”

At this Deadpool quieted. 

Peter looked over to see him looking down.

“No,” Jimmy frowned. “It was because he left his business in shambles before I got it. From the faith he put in people like _you_ instead of his own family. Wouldn’t let me have one damn say in the matter until he was dead, and by then he’d left me with nothing but the scraps of a great empire he’d all but run into the ground. Which I have since built up to be greater than my father's legacy could ever dream.”

He circled back to look down at Walter, who was shaking far more violently now. 

“And you have the audacity to treat me like my idiotic father!” he yelled, spit flying from his mouth as the man flinched back.

He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed at his mouth, composing himself.

“Now,” Jimmy continued more calmly, “You either get me what I’m missing by tonight, or you and your men will be sleeping with the fishes.”

The man kneeling was just about to say something before suddenly Deadpool was _not_ next to Peter any longer.

“Hold it, time out!” Deadpool shouted loudly, hands coming up in the universal symbol as he stepped out and exposed himself from their little hideout that was not _nearly_ far enough away. Peter panicked, ducking down as he cursed Deadpool. What was he doing?! 

Suddenly guns were cocked and trained on Deadpool. Peter, from his hidden crouched position, didn’t need to see to know he was heavily outnumbered and surrounded.

“I was really rooting for some originality, you know?” Deadpool sighed. “You just had so much against you from the beginning.” 

Peter peaked up the barest bit to see Deadpool had started to count on his fingers. “First was the typical bad guy dealing spot on the harbor, like _come on_. Then the hand-me-down family business, but the icing on the cake was the shitty, absent, abusive father… you’re like a low budget gangster movie people scroll past on Netflix.”

Deadpool shook his head sadly. “I was willing to look past all that, okay, but then you had to go copying the Godfather. That’s got a 98% rating on the tomatometer, Jimbo. You’re not even in its _league._ ”

Jimmy, who had been increasingly turning red, seemed to be done with Deadpool’s criticism because he suddenly threw out an arm angierly to order his men to “Shoot him!”.

The first bullet created mayhem. 

Walter and his men used the distraction of the fire fight to flee, even as Jimmy started yelling out orders for his men to shoot after them. However, his men seemed torn between using their fire power on Deadpool or the retreating men, but when Deadpool revealed his own weapons their guns focused back on him. 

Peter cursed, knowing he needed to go stop Deadpool from gleefully murdering all those men. 

“Karen, send these coordinates to the police and give a brief description.”

Suddenly Peter heard Deadpool cackling maniacally as a man's scream rang out over the sound of shooting.

“And tell them to hurry,” Peter added hurriedly before Karen could confirm.

“Of course, Peter,” was all she said. 

Good, one less thing to worry about. The cops would be here soon. He would attempt to wrangle in Deadpool and tie the remaining men up before they arrived. Hopefully.

Peter eyed a lamppost a ways behind all the commotion and flung out a web. He went soaring over the fire fight, noticing a few holes Deadpool was bleeding from already while he danced in between the spray of bullets.

“Deadpool!” he shouted as he flipped onto the lamppost and webbed up two men nearest to him while their backs were turned, “ _No killing_!” 

“No killing!” Deadpool parroted back in a yell. “Promise! Just some light maiming!” 

Peter would have face palmed if he could but he was too busy extracting weapons out of hands and webbing up the bad guys. A few went scattering even though their boss had told them to stay and fight. Peter didn’t blame them. He wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of Deadpool either.

Peter flipped down to stop two men from grabbing weapons from the open crates. 

“Uh-uh,” Peter chastised with a shake of his finger before banging their heads together just hard enough to incapacitate them. He used his webs as much as possible, considering it was the gentlest way to immobilize his opponents, but hey, even Peter could admit that sometimes kicking ass just made him feel badass.

These guys weren’t low-level corner store robbers down on their luck, or bicycle thieves. No these were true blue thugs, mobsters most likely, who were clearly buying heavy artillery for a purpose far greater than simple home defense. 

So Peter let himself get a little more physical than he normally would, spider senses allowing him to dodge bullets easily so he could get close enough to double them over with a good punch before webbing them to the nearest brick wall. He made sure to never do any permanent damage, the most bruised part being their egos than anything else. 

Deadpool on the other hand… was having a little too much fun allowing the remaining men play fire-fight with him as he pretended to cower, shielding himself behind a ship’s large propeller. He leaned out to shoot randomly before ducking back to take cover again as Peter’s advance hearing picked up his giggling. Peter knew exactly how this would end if he didn’t intervene. He wasn’t fooled for one second that those men had Deadpool cornered. 

He fought his way over. He left a trail of webbed up bad guys in his trail, knowing it would make it safer and easier for the cops if they were left that way. He glanced around but it was just the two left who were focused on Deadpool. As focused as they were on that they didn’t notice Peter coming up behind them. 

Well aware Deadpool would be his audience for this, Peter ran, using a crate to propel himself up. He soared as he flipped over the men and webbed their guns out of their hands as he went. He twisted as he descended, letting the weapons go soaring in opposite directions as he landed his dismount. 

The two men gaped at one another, then at Peter, before making such a hasty retreat that literal dust clouds were left floating in their wake. 

With all the men now either tied up, unconscious, or just plain gone, it left the clearing deafeningly silent in the aftermath of what had just gone down.

That is until a loud whistle rang out followed by loud, enthusiastic applause. 

Peter turned to see Deadpool walking towards him with a whiteboard in his hand. He scribbled something down before tucking the marker away and lifting it above his head.

A clumsily drawn “10” was drawn on it with a heart for a zero.

How did he even _have_ …?

Peter was about to ask that very question out loud when they heard a scuffle come from between the two condemned, run down buildings on the other side of the dock. They looked at one another before Deadpool took off at a sprint and Peter used the (broken) lampposts to swing himself that way. 

As usual Peter got there first. 

He walked carefully along the dilapidated rooftop as he assessed the situation. He noticed the shady dealer, Walter, and one of Jimmy’s men fighting.

“You’re not going anywhere,” the man grunted as he grabbed at Walter and threw a punch. Walter went down fast, the gun he’d had in his hand skidding across the pavement. The failed pulled the man with him, and they continued to fight as they scuffled on the ground. 

Peter dropped down beside them just as Deadpool got to the head of the two buildings. By the time Deadpool reached him Peter had already webbed them up to opposite sides of the alley, neither one of them having time to react. They’d stopped spitting curses at each other to instead curse _him_ so Peter webbed their mouths to shut them up.

Peter dusted his hands off as Deadpool walked over to poke at the men encased in webbing.

“Barely broke a sweat, huh, baby boy,” he observed, impressed. “I doubt you even need m—”

Peter’s spider sense had him jumping out the way before he could even warn Deadpool as a spray of bullets came from a man behind him. Deadpool went down hard on the ground. He looked up, ready to fight, only to see the man sprint away, clearly happy with the results and not wanting to stick around for more.

He expected to see Deadpool pop right back up, cursing about how “that fucking _stings!”_ but he stayed face down on the ground, limbs splayed from his fall.

It wasn’t the first time Peter had seen him die but his natural response was always the same.

Peter shouted Deadpool’s name and crouched beside him, worried, as always, even if he knew it was a matter of time before he came back. 

That’s right. Deadpool _would_ be back. There was no reason for the pounding of Peter’s heart or the way his hands shook as he nudged his limp body over onto his back so his face wasn’t pressed uncomfortably into the ground. Deadpool always acted like it didn’t matter how he died, or even how he came back. He’d just brush himself off and right his limbs, with a joke queued on his lips. But Peter always made sure to prop him up, or at least right him into a more comfortable position depending on the injury, before he came to. How jarring that whole process must be to begin with, Peter always thought as he waited for Deadpool to come back. He certainly wouldn’t want to come back from the dead to a face full of asphalt. 

Plus, Peter suddenly remembered as his gaze skimmed over Deadpool’s fatal injuries, he had something to do.

His hands shook as they looked for and found the small little pouch he had modified into his suit yesterday. He slipped the syringe out and into his palm. It felt heavier than he remembered... Peter shook his head to clear his thoughts. He’d lived with Aunt May long enough to know a little about what he was going to do, so he shouldn’t have been this nervous.

Although Peter _knew_ why he was nervous. That didn’t stop him from finding a tear in his suit at the crook of Deadpool’s arm and _ripping_ , sound loud in his ears, so the opening gave him more skin to work with. He kept himself focused on Deadpool; on his movement and breathing, or lack thereof, for any indication of life. His hands shook, the syringe nearly slipping out of his grip. He took a steadying, deep breath and willed his heart to stop pounding. He could do this.

The syringe was pressing into Deadpool’s skin, Peter nearly on his way to attaining his sample, when suddenly the world was a suffocating wall of bright burning pain.

Peter would have screamed or called out if he had any air left in his lungs. Instead a tiny barely-there gasp left him painfully as he fell limp over Deadpool’s body. The syringe dropped from his hand and rolled away. Peter caught himself on the arm that _wasn’t_ on fire. 

His spider sense was blaring, _finally_ . He had no idea why he hadn’t noticed someone _firing a gun at him_. The bullet wound in his shoulder throbbed indignantly. He must have been so focused that he hadn't even registered what was going on behind him.

Peter still felt the presence of the threat still around so he gritted his teeth together and made himself move. He stood, turning around to the other side of the exit between the two buildings where Jimmy stood this time, gun in hand. 

“Say hello to my little friend,” Jimmy smirked, hefting up one of the guns he’d been planning to purchase from Walter. 

Peter was about to web the gun out of his hands when Deadpool’s voice came low from behind him.

“Now this fucker is just annoying,” he groused, hands cradling the healing parts of himself. “Scarface is _definitely_ off limits to this wannabe.”

Peter’s divided attention and small bark of laughter were a second too much of a distraction. Peter felt his senses flare up in warning again as Jimmy fired once more, this time in a spray of rapid bullets. Peter attempted to maneuver around them, usually an easy task for him, but this time he was slowed down and thrown off balance by the pain in his shoulder. 

He stumbled, moving too slow, and a bullet flew through the meatiest part of his leg.

Peter had plenty of air in his lungs this time to let out a shrill scream, feeling like the very _sun_ had decided to take residence in his thigh. He clenched his burning, bleeding leg as he went down hard, landing on his wounded shoulder.

He gasped, vision greying as the pain took over. He’d done a lot as Spider-Man, even so much as holding two halves of a ship together and being in a plane wreck (well, of a sort). He's been stabbed, bruised, and even pushed off things at great heights.

But shot by a gun? Never.

_It fucking hurt._

The pain was a constant blare, making it hard to concentrate, but Peter was coherent enough to see Deadpool step over him to point a gun at the man, finger curling around the trigger ready to pull. 

He used his last choking breath to order out a “‘Pool, no!” before he was passing out, head hitting the pavement with a thud.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah boy, this chapter, guys... I am just going to release it into the world and walk away. If I don't I will keep tweaking it.  
> I wanted it to convey so much, and I'm not sure it does justice to how I envisioned it.
> 
> Either way, enjoy!
> 
>   
> **PLEASE READ:**
> 
> I will maintain that nothing has happened (or will) to tag my fic as underage. If anyone thinks this chapter changes that, I will gladly add the tag. But so far I believe everything has been fairly innocent between them, now we're just kicking up the tension a notch. 🥵  
> (Please feel free to reach out though if you disagree! I would never want to make anyone feel uncomfortable.)
> 
> Happy reading and as always let me know what you think! ♥️

Peter came to with a gasp.

There was a dull, steady aching in his head and a burning in his shoulder. The kind of burning that felt like fire, the wild all-consuming cannot-be-tamed kind, as if someone had decided to pour gasoline on a raging forest fire just for fun. His vision swam as he fluttered his eyes in an attempt to focus them, but they tightened in pain as he was moved once more and the pain spiked again. 

Peter could hear the distance sound of sirens, but far more closer was someone making soothing noises at him. Although he had no idea who the voice belonged to, or, he thought through the dizziness of pain, even _where_ he was. Beyond the aching agony throughout his body a disoriented feeling was starting to spread and he felt anxiety churn low in his stomach.

“You’re alright, Spidey,” came the low, soothing voice again from above him as large hands cupped around his ribs and sides to push him back and prop him up against something. The surface behind Peter felt hard and uncomfortable along his back, but at least the shooting pain in his shoulder had ceased.

The relief was brief, though, as Peter let out a small pain-filled whimper as his leg was jostled and another jolt of pain raced through his body.

“ _Fuck,_ ” the soothing voice turned harsh before coming back soft again, this time apologetic and comforting. “Sorry, honey, I’m sorry. I know it hurts. I didn’t mean to bump it like that.”

The voice he’d slowly started to recognize continued on to curse quietly above him. “Damn fucking katanas,” it grumbled irritably. 

The weight he’d felt hovering above him vanished suddenly and Peter shivered from the lack of warmth. He forced his eyes open to investigate despite the effort even _that_ took as his body throbbed in distress. 

He knew that voice, and there was only one person in the _world_ that Peter knew who carried katanas on his person.

Peter was relieved to notice he was still wearing his mask. Through it he could see Deadpool shuffling backwards to get out of what looked to be the backseat of a car. Whose, though, Peter didn’t know. He attempted to sit up and call for Deadpool, but all he managed was a sharp exhale as the movement caused shooting pain.

Fine. He’d just sit here still and quiet until Deadpool got back, then. 

From his propped position along the door Peter could see the one Deadpool had just exited was left wide open. It didn’t need to be open for Peter to hear, though, that Deadpool was talking to someone else, a gentleman with a heavy accent, right outside.

“Will you put my babies in the trunk for me, Dopinder?” Deadpool asked him. “Unless you’ve got some other family member vying for Gita’s love stowed away in there?”

Peter’s brow furrowed at the odd comment, but he wasn’t entirely sure he was hearing correctly what with the pain-laced fog of his addled thoughts at the moment. 

“These too,” Deadpool added in an afterthought, and Peter heard a heavy grunt as what sounded like Deadpool started unloading his weapons onto the man.

“No, no, plenty of room!” The man who must be Dopinder reassured in a strained voice, followed by nervous laughter. 

“You are too funny, ‘Pool,” he exclaimed overly loud before frantically whispering, “That is Spider-Man, DP! Do not tell him of my mishap with—”

“Bandhu,” Deadpool finished as he opened the trunk for Dopinder. “Yes, yes, of course. Our little secret, my sweet cinnamon roll. Although, I don’t think he’s much worried about your foray into kidnapping at the moment.”

The sound of the weapons being deposited and then the trunk abruptly slamming had Peter clenching his teeth as the bang reverberated through the cab of the car. He hissed a breath out in surprise just as he heard Deadpool’s indignant shout at Dopinder.

“Gently!”

“Sorry, sorry,” came the nervous voice again. 

Deadpool’s midsection came back into Peter’s view as the now-weaponless merc hunched over to slid into the cab cautiously, careful of Peter’s injured leg laid out straight along the seat. The door shut behind him far softer than the trunk had, and Peter saw from the corner of his vision as the other man walked around the car towards the driver’s side.

“There ya are, Webs,” Deadpool observed happily, noticing Peter’s alertness. “Back with me now?”

“What happened?” Peter asked just as the driver's side door opened and the man slid in. Peter turned curiously to see if he could make out who it was but only a few colorful brochures and a divider with a small opening met him instead. He hissed out a breath as his movement pulled at the wound on his shoulder.

They were obviously in a taxi cab, Peter thought astutely. But _why?_ Surely Deadpool hadn’t hailed a _taxi_ for him? 

“Who’s that?” Peter grunted, bringing his uninjured arm up so his hand could press curiously along his shoulder. This position didn’t put much pressure on the wound, but it still throbbed sharply. A fact that worried Peter.

When his fingertips came back glistening with fresh blood it worried him further.

“No, keep your hand there,” Deadpool ordered, pushing at the back of Peter’s hand firmly. “Put pressure on it. It’ll help.”

Peter clenched his teeth at the painful pressure but he exhaled slowly and endured it. He knew enough about this from Aunt May to know it would indeed help. He just wondered how long it would take his healing factor to kick in to stop the bleeding and then, ya know, actually heal it. He’d never been shot before so he wasn’t honestly sure of the answer. He glanced down at the round thigh wound causing a large patch of dark red to spread against the blue of his suit. It was a rather concerning amount of blood, he thought worriedly.

It seemed someone else thought so, too, and as if reading his mind, “That’s, um, quite a lot of blood, Mr. Pool,” came the accented voice from up front. “Should we maybe be getting him to a hospital?”

A jolt of panic ran through Peter, making everything flare up in hurt even brighter than before. _No._ No hospitals. 

“No,” he gasped out before Deadpool could answer. “No hospitals.”

“Spidey,” Deadpool countered sensibly, “you’re bleeding like a stuck pig. We really shou—”

“I have a healing factor,” Peter ground out angrily. “You know that.”

“Yes, but—”

“It’s not as good as yours,” Peter conceded with a shake of his head. “But I—”

His mind was growing even more fuzzy from the pain, not helped along from the spike of adrenaline he’d just received in his panic, and he was having trouble thinking clearly. When he couldn’t conjure a good enough response that _wouldn’t_ give too much away, he deflated defeatedly. The pain ebbed away into something a little more manageable as he pleaded, “Just... no hospitals, Deadpool. Please.”

There was only one hospital in the area with an emergency room open this late and it was the one Aunt May was currently on shift for. Even if he didn’t have his identity to worry about, he didn’t want to show up in the middle of the night half conscious, riddled with bullet holes, dripping blood. He’d only succeed in reminding her of Uncle Ben, and giving her a damn heart attack. May worried enough about him, he didn’t want to add to it.

Plus, she’d just given him more freedom than he’d had in a long while as Spider-Man, and Peter wasn’t eighteen yet. This would for sure make her change her mind, and he’d be back to fighting crime on his old weekend schedule. Which meant…

He’d have way less time with Deadpool, if that happened.

There was always the Tower but Peter quickly squashed that thought. Anything involving Tony Stark was out of the question, too. If he caught wind of him hanging around Deadpool...

“Please,” he repeated more firmly. Or at least tried to.

Deadpool just stared at him for a moment, mouth slack, before he snapped it shut and said, “You heard the man. No hospitals. The next best thing is _casa de Deadpool._ ”

The cab started with a turn of the key and the engine rumbled to life. They pulled out onto the road just in time as the sirens blared louder as the cops finally arrived on the scene.

The sirens faded into the distance as they drove, but Peter was still left with loud, troubled thoughts repeating in his mind. He couldn’t help but replay the events of the night in his head, and Peter wanted nothing more than to demand Deadpool tell him what happened after he’d passed out… especially to the man Peter remembered Deadpool was about to kill. Had he gone through with it, or had Peter managed to stop him? He wanted to know if they’d just left an ugly crime scene behind, with too many bodies and too few answers, and no one to intercede the police and update them of what had truly transpired.

But Peter felt those questions stick to the back of his throat, unable to get any of them out past the grip of panic that kept it’s hold on him. He could feel it curling around him, making his breathing come faster, and his pulse quicken. The reality of the situation was starting to hit him as his body trembled from shock and he started sweating; from the pain, the panic, or it just being too warm in the unfamiliar car, Peter wasn’t sure. Each inhale felt nauseating, and a sickeningly sweet floral fragrance hung thick in the air of the cab, clinging to his nostrils and choking his lungs with each inhale as he attempted to level out his breathing.

“Hey, little spider,” Deadpool cooed worriedly as he noticed Peter struggling, and for as big a man as he was he managed to contort himself snugly in between Peter’s straight leg and the one bent along the footwell without touching any of the spots that hurt. He leaned into Peter’s space as he reassured, “You’re okay, buddy. Just gotta keep some pressure on those spots until I can properly check them out.” Deadpool’s eyes surveyed the hand Peter still had pressed along his shoulder, then glanced down in concern at the still bleeding wound along his thigh.

“You got any spare towels laying around, Dopinder? Preferably clean, ya nasty. I know what you get up to in your free time with that Gita picture,” Deadpool angled his head up to scan the front through the small, square window. 

“Maybe a forgotten beach bag laying in the footwell?” Deadpool suggested hopefully.

Peter was only capable of two things at the moment: bleeding and listening. So he did just that, attempting to figure out just how Deadpool was so familiar with a New York taxi driver of all people. 

“No, ‘Pool. I never learned to swim,” Dopinder’s regretful voice carried over the soft sounds of his music that had started playing as soon as he’d started the car. “I am sorry.”

Deadpool’s voice sounded syrupy sweet as he said, “Nothing your shirt can’t fix.” 

“M-my shirt—?”

Deadpool's hand extended to make a _‘gimmie’_ motion through the window. 

“I-I must keep my hands on the wheel at all ti—”

“Your shirt, Dopinder,” Deadpool’s voice repeated in a deep, far less friendly tone.

Dopinder sighed greatly before acquiescing to Deadpool's demand. 

The cab swayed violently as Dopinder attempted to pull his shirt free over his head and Peter cried out as he went flying into the partition along the back of the driver's seat.

“Easy, Dopinder!” Deadpool nearly growled before he grabbed the offered shirt through the window and turned to help right Peter, who hissed through his teeth as he was readjusted. The calm breathing he’d been attempting went out the window as Deadpool pressed the shirt down to the bullet hole on his thigh. The pressure hurt far worse than the hand on his shoulder had and he couldn’t hold back the cry that fell from his lips.

“Sorry, Spidey,” Deadpool's voice sounded apologetic even if he didn’t let up the pressure on Peter’s thigh. “I don’t think it nicked anything vital, like an artery.”

Deadpool glanced up and Peter caught the hint of a smirk, “Believe me, I’d know. It would be a lot more spurty.”

When that didn’t invoke the chuckle Deadpool was obviously going for his smirk tipped down into a worried frown. His gaze was drawn down again to the shirt slowly soaking through with blood. “I don’t think this one went clean through, though. That may be why it’s having a hard time healing. We may need to go fishin’ for the little sucker.”

“But don’t worry!” Deadpool added quickly as if afraid Peter would do just that. “I’m a pro at removing weird foreign objects out of my body. So one teeny little bullet will be easy peasy lemon squeezy. Just call me Doctor Deadpool,” he winked flirtatiously. 

Peter didn’t have the brain power to analyze that sentence or even ask just _what_ kind of weird foreign objects Deadpool could have possibly _fished out_ of himself. All Peter managed to focus on was what that meant, exactly, for _him_.

And it _did_ make him worry, and all his early panicking came back full force as Peter started to second guess his protests of ‘no hospitals’. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Deadpool, exactly. But… well, he kind of wanted the expertise and reassurance of his Aunt May all of a sudden.

He felt hot, frustrated tears prick at the back of his eyes but he held them in. He wouldn’t cry like some little kid for his Auntie. Especially in front of Deadpool, who, from what Peter had read, had gone through way worse than this. And sure, he may not have had a choice in being bitten by that spider, but he’d had a choice in becoming Spider-Man. With that choice he signed up for all that entailed, which apparently meant the occasional gunshot wound or two, and the furtive services of Deadpool, M.D.

He bit his lip to keep the hitch of his shaky breath to himself and told himself to buck up. Just like Uncle Ben used to tell him after a scraped knee or a big fall. “ _You’ll live, Pete, my strong boy_ ,” he used to tell Peter before encasing him in a large, loving hug. Suddenly the throb of his bullet wounds did nothing but reminded him of the last moment of his Uncle Ben’s life, and he wondered if he’d felt this much pain, too. He hadn’t had the reassurance of a healing factor, though. And maybe the fact Peter wasn’t healing as quickly as he normally did was due to karma paying Peter back for allowing what happened to his Uncle Ben—

Peter startled as the bottom of his mask was tugged up. He flinched back, whimpering as his shoulder tugged painfully into the door behind him and a few tears escaped the corner of his eyes unwillingly. Great, now on top of everything else his mask would be damp and uncomfortable, too.

“Just lifting it up over your nose so you can breathe a little easier. That’s all,” Deadpool promised as his fingers gently continued to pull. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, cutie.”

Once his mask was freed from the bottom half of his face it should have helped, but instead it just made it easier for him to gulp in quicker, erratic breaths. Peter attempted to calm down but the more he tried the harder it seemed to be to shake the feelings of panic and distress. It didn’t help that now the guilty thoughts of his Uncle Ben’s death were swirling around in his head, too.

It also didn’t help when Dopinder, who was driving a little too fast, went over a nasty bump. Peter gasped out in pain and whatever healing his shoulder had been doing was reversed as he felt a gush of warmth flow beneath his fingers. The strong, metallic smell of fresh blood in the air mixing with the fragrance of flowers had his stomach rolling, and Peter felt like he was in a blooming field of death.

To say it didn’t help his current freak out was an understatement.

Peter felt Deadpool shift, but he was hardly aware of him as he tucked his chin down towards his uninjured shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut. He was starting to get rather dizzy from his blood loss and all he wanted to do was tuck himself away and make himself small. Maybe if he closed his eyes this would all fade away and he’d wake up back in his bed at home.

Peter hadn’t felt this inadequate in his ability to be Spider-Man since Vulture. Since the ship he hadn’t managed to save and the dressing down Tony had given him when he’d come to fix Peter’s giant mistake. 

Since having his suit taken away from him.

Bleeding out in the back of a taxi cab on a random school night from his own dumb mistake being held together by Deadpool’s steady hands? Somehow this felt exponentially worse.

All he could hear in the back of his head was Tony’s voice, _“if you died, I’d feel like that’s on me.”_

He’d wanted so badly to prove Tony wrong, then. He’d only been kidding himself thinking he’d ever manage to be anywhere near as comparable to someone as great as Tony Stark.

“ _Webs_ , hey, look at me.” 

Peter kept his chin down. He was sick of Deadpool’s soothing voice. It just kept reminding him of how inadequate he was as a superhero; of how young and inexperienced he was compared to the man hovering over him. Peter was pretty sure Deadpool had never cried in the back of a taxi. He certainly hadn’t had someone pressing his wounds in concern, babying him as he fell apart about it.

No, Deadpool was the kind of person who patched himself up in dark corners and kept on going.

How in the world did Peter ever think someone that strong would think of him as anything but weak?

“Right at me. None of that, now, come on,” Peter felt a hand nudge lightly at his chin to raise it to meet his eyes. He refused up until Deadpool’s thumb swiped softly at the underside of his chin, and then he was lifting it hesitantly. Peter wasn’t sure when he’d done it, but his mask mirrored Peter’s in its rolled up position just to the bridge of his nose. Peter couldn’t help but focus on the enticing movement of full lips as Deadpool continued to talk. “You focused on me?”

Peter nodded in a daze.

The whites of Deadpool’s mask crinkled in concern. “You’re gonna be okay, I promise,” and his voice wasn’t goofy or sweet or anything but completely serious. “I’ve removed enough bullets from myself to load a damn machine gun. You’re gonna be fine, sweetheart.”

Peter’s heart skipped at the soft, sincere use of the pet name. It wasn’t like any of the other times Deadpool teased him by spewing cutesy nicknames and odes to an appearance he’d never seen. No… this felt real. Genuine. And it made Peter feel small and vulnerable and oddly like something Deadpool cared for instead of felt responsible for, unlike everyone else in his life. It hurt in all the places he currently didn’t: like his heart. It stabbed there painfully and suddenly it was too much.

“D-don’t,” Peter gasped out in a display of feelings he didn’t quite understand himself yet. He didn’t want Deadpool placating him just because he was hurt. He wanted the obnoxious flirting and the dirty jokes, like normal. He couldn’t take this tender, kind Deadpool who only gave him _hope_. 

Hope for _what_ Peter didn’t know, still wasn’t sure, because he’d been in the midst of trying to figure it out when he got _shot,_ but— but he’d never heard such sincerity and lightness carried in Deadpool’s voice before. The man was usually vivacious, crude, and loud. So _very, very_ loud. 

But his voice was just above a whisper and twice as soft as he spoke to Peter. Was this just Deadpool’s attempt at calming him down? By attempting to be as non-threatening as possible?

“I’m not a child,” Peter forced out, anger spiking over everything else in that moment, giving him something to focus on instead of his panic-spiral.

“Oh, baby boy,” Deadpool’s soft voice lowered an octave, still coming out in a not-quite-whisper, “I don't think that.” 

The thumb that had been resting just under his chin along his fluttering pulse left and Peter watched as Deadpool brought his hand up to his teeth, biting the fabric at his middle finger to pull it off. He let it go, letting it drop between them uncaringly, and Peter couldn't take his focus off Deadpool. He slowly reached out again to cup Peter's jaw, and the same thumb, now uncovered, traveled up in a fiery blaze across his skin to rest along the plumpest part of his bottom lip. Peter was hyper aware of how calloused and rough the skin felt against his own, but the opposite of repulsion filled him when Deadpool started to swipe it back and forth.

Everything felt hot and uncomfortable and _painful_ ; but all that faded away as he suddenly had the strongest urge to reach out and lick—

The cab swerved abruptly, but instead of Peter being jostled this time it was Deadpool who pitched forward, balance lost. Peter flinched and braced himself, unable to throw out his hands to catch the man, but the impact never came. Instead there was a soft thud next to his ear and when Peter opened his eyes his breath caught.

Deadpool had caught himself with the hand that had been caressing Peter's lip, arm bent against the window alongside his head, and Peter flushed at how close it brought them, now mere inches from one another's faces. He could feel the warm puffs of Deadpool’s breath and suddenly Peter’s lips felt drier than they ever had before and he couldn’t hold in the urge he’d felt moments ago. He let his tongue swipe across them and the shift in the whites of Deadpool’s eyes told him exactly where the man was looking.

The shallowness of Peter’s breathing suddenly wasn’t from panic, but from desire, and everything bled away into the proximity of their bodies and how close Deadpool’s lips were to Peter’s own. All it would take was a slight shift forward, Peter thought dizzyingly. It would be worth the horrible twinge of pain, Peter imagined, to learn what Deadpool’s lips might feel like pressed against his own.

The thought didn’t even worry him, like it had just hours ago as he’d fumbled with a syringe over Deadpool’s body. Faced with the reality of the situation Peter figured maybe all he needed was to try it, to get it out of his system. Maybe there was an influence over them that could only be lifted by giving in to it’s pull.

Deadpool shifted and started leaning forward and Peter stopped breathing. Frozen, he kept himself propped in place against the inside of a strangers cab, bleeding out, eager for Deadpool’s kiss.

Then there was a screeching of old brakes and the car was suddenly halting to a slower stop, causing both of them to sway. Deadpool’s lips missed their target to brush across the soft outer corner of Peter’s mouth. 

Peter was positive he’d succumbed to his injuries in that moment because his heart all but stopped beating.

“Here we are, Mr. Pool,” Dopinder’s cheerful voice announced, breaking the spell between them.

Deadpool didn’t move for a moment, almost as if he hadn’t heard, but then he moved back, putting distance between them, and cleared his throat. “Thanks, Dopinder.” 

His voice didn’t sound thankful at all.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _it’s aliiiiiive_. 
> 
> Sincerest apologies for the long wait. This fic is not abandoned, don’t despair! Work, school, and other projects have consumed my life! But I’ve still been writing, as I’ve recently pumped out a few ones shots if you wanted something else to tide you over between chapters. I may still be slow going on updates for this fic, but I’ll try and give this story just as much love as my others. 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and lovely support. I’m honestly touched and flattered so many love and follow this story! I have fun while writing it, so it makes me happy you all enjoy reading it. 
> 
> Comments honestly save lives, folks. They motivated me to get this chapter out, that’s for sure. Soooo if you’d like let me know what you think of this chapter! I think you’ll equally love and hate me for it. 
> 
> ♥️
> 
> (also, despite some light research, I am not a doctor so just take this all with a grain of fanfiction-y salt!)

Peter was left to lean along the cement wall at the top of the steps leading down to what Peter assumed was Deadpool's apartment. Peter looked around, taking in the general… well, _rundownness_ of the place. The building had a faded green tinged to it, sickly-looking, really, with holes and other ill repaired mishaps donning the outside walls. There was an old car rusting in the lot, hood up, weeds consuming it like it had been a long time since the ignition had been turned over.

It certainly wasn’t what Peter would have imagined for the wealthy mercenary. 

His gaze roamed over to Deadpool, who had gone back over to talk to Dopinder, the man nodding enthusiastically at whatever he was being told. Peter probably could have eavesdropped if he wanted to, his hearing better these days, thank you spider bite, but the pain was still a throbbing distraction, and all he wanted to do was lay down and also, maybe, _not be shot._

But since he could only have one of those things right now, he just really wanted Deadpool to wrap it up and help him get to a chair, a couch, anything, as long as he didn’t have to stand on his two feet anymore. He felt bone-deep exhausted. The kind of exhaustion he got from when he and Ned had a sleepover and completely disregarded Aunt May’s “no staying up past midnight” rule. The kind where they’d start a movie marathon, or a videogame, and then suddenly the golden hues of a rising sun shone behind closed blinds, and the twittering of birds left them with the startling realization that they’d pulled an allnighter; and the rest of the day that followed would be filled with tired eyes and wide yawns.

His eyes slipped closed for a second, just a second, too heavy to stay open. The fatigue he felt, likely from the blood loss, made him slightly woozy and it wasn’t until he was pitching sideways that he even realized he’d been leaning into thin air.

Two strong arms were there to catch him before he fell, righting him as gently as they could. 

“Woah—Gotcha, Spidey. No falling on Deadpool’s watch.”

Suddenly those same arms were slipping across his back and under his legs to lift him up into a bridal carry, of all things. The movement jostled him painfully and he hissed, and Deadpool left out a sympathetic noise. 

  
“I can walk, Deadpool,” he ground out through his embarrassment, feeling like a child for being carried. Anger surged through him again at the action, the same kind he’d felt from Deadpool’s soothing tone earlier; but it also reminded him of what Deadpool had said in the cab, about how he didn’t think of him as a child at all, right before that moment where they’d almost—well, where Peter had been pretty sure they were going to—  
  
“ _Mmhmm_ , Spiders got eight legs, and all,” Deadpool chirped in agreement. “But it would hurt _way_ more attempting to go down these steps on your wittle wounded spidey legs, so I figured two birds, one Deadpool, ya know?”

When Peter didn’t say anything he continued on in typical Deadpool fashion, unable to let even a minute of silence go by. “These guns were _made_ for carrying hurt little spiders, if you must know. Everytime they grow back they come with an instruction manual. S’right there in the fine print.”

Peter couldn’t help his huff of laughter, but he still declared, “Stop calling me little.”

  
Deadpool, approaching the door, nodded in acquiescence. “Yes, _sir_. You’re actually heavier than I anticipated if it makes you feel better. Or maybe I’ve just skipped arm day one too many times.”

He paused just outside the door, taking a moment to warn Peter, “Uh, after the tragic events of Deadpool 2 I shacked back up with a buddy of mine. It’s not much, and she’s got horrible taste in IKEA furniture, but it’s somewhere to lay low and she’s blind so she can actually tolerate my ugly mug.”

Deadpool sighed woefully. “May she rest in peace.”

“She died?” Peter asked quietly, sad in the way it always was to hear someone had passed, especially a friend of Deadpool. He didn’t seem to have many, if his befriending of a cab driver was any indication. 

“No,” was all Deadpool said before he kicked in the door.

The move barely jostled Peter but it was his own jump of fright that had him hissing in pain. “Don’t you have a key!?”

“Uh… Well, Al might actually not know I’m here, _heh_. Last I heard she went down to Florida to stay with some of her gal pals. Not fair _she_ gets to live out the Golden Girls dream. And it’s not exactly like I can get the door with an armful of _Spider-Man,_ can I?”

Peter felt that similar exasperation that sometimes snuck up on him in Deadpool’s presence. “You _could_ have put me down!”

“Coulda, woulda, shoulda,” Deadpool recited as he ducked into the doorway.

“ _Anywho_ , it’s not like Al will mind. I used to room with her back in the glory days of the DP origin story. We met in a laundry mat, don’tcha know, and we get along like white on mice! And by white I mean cocaine, and by mice I literally mean the mice who chewed through the bag to get to it. But don’t worry your pretty little head, _no mas ratones_ in this _casa_ , they’re all dead now.”

As always it took Peter a minute to work through just what Deadpool had said. “It's white on _rice,_ Deadpool, but I think you mean you get along like a house on fire.”

Deadpool shook his head vehemently. “No way, I wouldn't want to give Al any ideas. Fire and me are _not_ friends, and burns are a _bitch_ to heal from. Believe me, I’d know.”

Peter _did_ believe him, considering Deadpool had probably come back from every and any kind of death imaginable, like he was personally making his way down the COD list. But it still gave him a funny twinge inside to hear him speak of it so nonchalantly; considering death had taken too many people from him, placing a permanent dark stain on Peter’s life.

As Deadpool crossed the threshold Peter took a look around. It was dark inside, but not too dark for Peter’s enhanced vision. He didn’t _quite_ have night vision, unless he activated Karen, but it was a near thing. Overall the place looked cluttered, but oddly homey. Like someone had tried to turn a crack den into an inviting living space ala Home Goods. 

Putting Deadpool’s comments into consideration, and the state of the building, that’s probably _exactly_ what had happened, Peter thought to himself. 

“Alright,” Deadpool said with a huff as he deposited Peter with care onto the worn couch. “Let me go see what kind of first aid Al’s got going on.”

With that he shuffled further into the apartment. 

Peter could hear him putzing around, flicking on lights and searching in cabinets, and suddenly he was left with the weirdest feeling. He was in Deadpool’s _home._ Or well. Deadpool’s friends home, that he oddly hijacked while they were away traveling, _but still_. He slept here. Ate here. Likely showered and got ready here.

Maybe he even did _other_ things here, like—

“Aha!” Deadpool crowded triumphantly from the next room, and Peter jumped slightly, blushing as if the merc himself had managed to hear the direction his thoughts had been taking. “We got a live one, and nothing’s even expired! God, sometimes I love that blind bitch.”

Deadpool shuffled back into the room, turning on a dim overhead light as he went. “But only sometimes, cause let me tell you there’s no one else who can cut you down better than that blind old bat.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Peter answered absentmindedly, trying to steady his heartbeat. It had been doing odd things since arriving. It wouldn’t stop beating in an unsteady rhythm that was making it clear it was just him and Deadpool. _Alone._

Which wasn’t odd, honestly. They spent plenty of nights together alone in the city, with time in between crime to kill just the two of them. But the somersaults in his stomach and the erratic beating of his heart wouldn’t be told otherwise because this was alone within _four walls,_ without the city surrounding them, distracting them, giving them a purpose to be together. This was Deadpool’s home. With a _bed_. In the place where Deadpool—

“—onna have to cut it.”

“What?” Peter asked unintelligently, focusing back in on what Deadpool had been telling him.

“I’m gonna have to cut your suit to get around your ouchies better,” he repeated from his kneeled position before Peter, and a gloved finger traced lightly around the bloody, tiny bullet hole in the thigh of Peter’s suit..

“You can’t _cut it_ , this suit is—” _worth about a million Stark Dollars_ , he swallowed back down.

“—special,” he finished lamely. 

“Well, special it may be, but hate to break it to you sweetie, it’s already pretty banged up. What’s a few extra snips gonna harm it? Unless you’d rather drop trow,” he accompanied this suggestion with a waggle of his eyebrows. 

Peter flushed hotly under his suit at the proposition. Peter didn’t have anything under his suit! It was far too form fitting to wear with underwear, so he only used a cup. No _way_ was he taking it off in front of Deadpool. He only recently stopped using the stalls in the gym locker room to change, for god sakes.

“N-no,” his voice cracked in his quick refusal. He cleared it hastily. “No. I… I guess you’re gonna have to cut it.”

Fuck, Mr. Stark was going to kill him.

“You sure?” Deadpool was suddenly dangling a pair of scissors, and they swung back and forth. 

Then he hummed, crossing his large arms, the pair of scissors engulfed in muscle, hidden. “Maybe I _shouldn’t_ harm Karen anymore than necessary,” Deadpool said contemplatively. 

Peter scowled. As if he even cared about Karen. She’d be just fine.

“ _Cut it, Deadpool._ ”

Deadpool shivered pleasantly. “Oh, _deep voice._ Sir, yes, sir!”

The scissors became visible again as Deadpool leaned over his thigh to start snipping, but he paused right before, looking back up. “You know, I could help you change out of the suit if you really didn’t want me to cut it? I don’t want to do anything you don’t want me to, but you don’t have to be embarrassed.” Deadpool sat back on his hunches as he continued. “You know what’s embarrassing? Having your friends, coworker, and time traveling enemy-cum-friend (long story!) stare at your baby bits as they grow back! Poor Dopinder nearly lost his lunch. _There’s_ a confidence crusher if I ever heard one!”

He stared up at Peter as he said, a touch gentler, “I promise I wouldn’t laugh. Or look. I’ll even gouge my eyes out if I gotta. I just want to patch you up properly, Spidey.”

Peter was touched, really, but there was nothing that was going to make him comfortable taking his suit off in front of Deadpool. Not even if he promised to close his eyes or, _gouge his eyes out_ , god, Deadpool was really something else. No, it just wasn’t going to happen. 

But the thought was there, and Peter appreciated it.

“Thanks, DP,” Peter replied sincerely. “No gouging necessary. Really, it’s okay. You can cut it.”

Deadpool looked at him for another moment before he shrugged slightly. “Okie dokie, your body, your suit, your choice!”

With that he bent back over, cutting at the fabric around the wound to make a nice space for him to work with. Peter didn’t look, mourning his suit and already thinking up wild excuses to curb Mr. Stark’s raging questions. He knew how fast and perceptive Peter’s senses were. It’d been years since he damaged his suit beyond minor maintenance, except those first few years of learning how to be Spider-Man. How was he going to explain this one?

Oh, Peter would say, I’ve just partnered up with Deadpool and for some reason got so distracted in wondering why I’m _attracted_ to him, I got shot? Yeah… the truth was a no-go. First, the moment Deadpool’s name was out of his mouth Mr. Stark would likely suit up and fly off in a rage that the merc was anywhere near him, and second, he’d give him another one of his lectures that managed to always make Peter feel about two feet tall.

He really wasn’t interested in either one of those things happening. But Peter was notoriously horrible at lying, so he’d have to come up with something at least _close_ to the truth if he was going to make Mr. Stark believe him even an ounce. 

Deadpool moved up to his shoulder silently, snipping away at the bullet hole in his shoulder. “This one looks like it’s healing up pretty fast. Might not even need stitches. Lean forward a bit.”

Peter reluctantly leaned forward, although the sting in his shoulder was significantly less, he was more worried about how close in proximity it brought him to Deadpool. He was standing up now to get to a better reach at Peter’s shoulder, leaning over to get at the exit hole the bullet had made. It brought him forward, closer to Deadpool’s chest, and Peter tamped down the urge to lean in and rest his forehead along the leather there.

It didn’t take long for Deadpool to snip away at the suit, and he pushed Peter back gently on his uninjured shoulder before couching down in front of his leg.

“Shoulder looks good so far. Still bleeding, though, so we should probably put pressure on it. Here,” Deadpool handed him a clean rag. “Lean back on the couch and place that on the wound while I work down here. This one’s still bleeding pretty badly,” he examined it gently with probing fingers. 

Peter placed the rag on his shoulder, flinching at the pain it brought to place it directly on top, but hesitated to lean back further. 

“I’m going to bleed all over your couch.” 

Deadpool barked a laugh. “Not the first or the last time, believe me. It’s seen way worse than blood,” he paused in a thoughtful gesture. “It might not even be wise to have you lean back on it, now that I think about it." He shrugged. "But, really, no worries. Bleed away! Like I said, Al’s blind so a few new bloodstains aren’t gonna bother her. Although I’m sure she’ll sniff them out, she’s got a nose like a damn bloodhound.”

He started setting things out around him as he chattered on about how that’s _exactly_ how they ended up meeting in the laundry mat, funny enough. 

Peter, definitely not reassured by that, leaned back tentatively. Deadpool gave him an encouraging grin. 

“Alright, so, this might sting a little,” and suddenly the burn of alcohol being poured on his wound had him gasping out. 

“A little more warning would be nice!” Peter ground out through clenched teeth. _Shit_. 

“Then you’d tense up more!” Deadpool cried in defense. He grabbed a pair of forceps. “I gotta go digging for that little sucker. This might sting just a _teensy_ bit more.”

The overhead light glinted off the metal, making Peter feel uneasy. Despite his mask Deadpool must have noticed the change in his body language because he assured,

“I’ll be quick. I’m a pro, promise. They call me Deadpool, MD,” and while his voice was meant to be reassuring, Peter felt the opposite. More than anything he wanted Aunt May, who had more knowledge and training than Deadpool, who’s experience was most likely all the times he’d rummaged around in his bathroom until he found something to pull out of himself.

“Dead _pool_ —” the rest was released in a gasp as the merc took that moment to dive in, and the fire in his thigh that had started to die down surged up again, consuming him as Deadpool searched for the bullet stuck inside. 

He tried to breathe through his nose, like Aunt May had taught him to do, something about getting more oxygen, but honestly he couldn’t help the shaky, exhaled whimpers falling from his lips.

“Hey,” Deadpool soothed, flickering his eyes up quickly before back down to his task. “ _Hey_ , you’re okay. Not much longer.” 

Peter shook his head. He couldn’t do ‘ _much longer’_. “I can’t. It hurts.”

The feeling was becoming too much, fire spreading, and Peter felt like Deadpool was working his way _through_ his thigh, that’s how badly it hurt; his eyes screwed up, hand twisting the rag at his shoulder, and his head dropped back as a low whine slipped past his lips.

“Focus on _me_ ,” Deadpool prompted, gaze slipping back downward. “I feel it, Spidey, almost got it.”

At this point Peter could hardly pay attention to what Deadpool was saying. The pain was creeping into unbearable and his shoulder throbbed from the press of his own hand, strength unchecked in his pain filled fog.

Deadpool made a noise and then—

Pain like back in the alleyway, getting shot all over again; overwhelming him until he couldn’t breathe, phantom smoke from his leg he was _sure_ was on fire choking at his throat, and his chest rose and fell in deep, uneven movements as he attempted to _breathe,_ _god, he knew how to breathe why couldn’t he—_

“Fuck,” came the deep register of a familiar voice and then fingers digging at his neck until Peter gasped out into cool, fresh air as his mouth and nose were exposed, mask rolled up to his cheeks; warm, strangely rough hands were on his face, framing them.

“Breathe, Spidey. The worst is over, just take a few steady breaths, in and out,” Deadpool instructed, but Peter’s eyes were still screwed up tight and despite the pain dissipating, he still felt a tightness in his chest, like a fist clenching at his lungs, refusing to let go. 

“Fuck it.” Then the hands along his face were gone. “lf this Freddy Kruger mug has the power to make babies cry and cause car accidents, I’ll bet it could also manage to distract you (or disgust you!) enough to take your mind off panicking.”

The hands were back, as was the voice. “Hey, look at me. Open up those pretty spidey eyes in there and focus on your pal Deadpool.”

At the soothing sound of that voice, and thumbs rubbing along the tops of his cheeks, Peter cracked his eyes open. He released a breath he’d been holding because Deadpool’s mask was off _completely_ and Peter was looking into the depths of clear, blue eyes. 

The scars he’d caught glimpses of during their many shared rooftop meals spread completely over his face, along the top of his hairless skull, and down his neck, disappearing into his suit. Even his _ears_ were scarred, and Peter wondered if it had all felt as painful as it looked.

As he let his eyes wander, far more interested now in exploring Deadpool’s exposed face, his breathing leveled out. Deadpool was right; it gave him something to focus on beyond his blind panic. His breath was still hitched slightly, abnormal in the way it always was after a panic attack, but not as intense. He could feel himself calming down, his heartbeat slowing, as he watched Deadpool take deliberate deep breaths with him through parted lips. Lips he’d seen before, but never with a full uncovered face. 

Deadpool blew out a relieved breath and sat back, hands slipping from Peter’s face. “Phew! I was worried I’d made it worse for you there, Spidey. It’s about an 80-20 gamble on a good day of it going south, but you’d seen the scars before so I figured I wouldn’t traumatize you too much.”

He dabbed an alcohol covered rag at the edges of the bullet hole to wipe up the fresh blood and remarked, “This seems to be healing up now that I took the bullet out.” He looked up. “Good news! I think I can get away with just bandaging you up, no stitches needed.”

“G-good,” Peter croaked, voice sounding like he’d been talking for hours, despite his silence. He was over this getting shot business. He’d definitely take bad guys with guns more seriously in the future. He’d also make sure not to be distracted like that again, either. 

Deadpool went about dressing the wound, making sure to glance up and check that Peter was doing okay throughout. Peter was doing much better now, but his focus was hyper aware of the expressions on his friends face now that he could see them without the mask. 

Hairless eyebrows scrunched together in concentration, and Peter saw him mouthing something to himself, clearly lost in his task. He had kind, bright eyes and a strong jaw line that made Peter wonder what he must have looked like before all the scars. 

Once done with Peter’s thigh he moved onto his shoulder.

“Still with me, Webs? You’re awfully quiet,” came Deadpool’s concerned voice close to his ear.

“I’m just tired,” Peter mumbled honestly. And too busy watching you, he didn’t say.

Deadpool hummed, letting his—oh, Peter hadn’t realized he’d taken his gloves off—rough, equally scarred hands close around his wrist to take his hand away from where it was still half-heartedly attempting to press at his shoulder. 

“You’re really not in any condition to swing home tonight,” Deadpool commented causally as he cleaned Peter’s shoulder. He hissed a little, the alcohol stinging, and Deadpool murmured soothingly at him. 

“DP, MD is prescribing some good old arachnid bedrest," he ordered with a toss of the rag, picking up a few bandages. "You can sleep here tonight, plenty of room with Al gone.”

Peter flushed at the offer, and his cheeks felt extra warm even with his mask rolled up. 

“I, uh, really need to get home tonight,” he said regretfully.

“What?” Deadpool asked. “Gotta water your plants?”

No, Peter thought. But if Aunt May comes home in the morning and finds me gone, she’s gonna dial Stark-1-1. 

Although, if he texted her to say Ned needed him, he had to go over there to help him, it was an emergency and he’d be staying the night...

That just might work. 

Peter was a much better liar over text than in person. He’d just need to get Ned’s approval first. Just in case, they should be on the same page. 

_If_ he decided to stay, that is. The thought felt unreal, like even if he made the decision it couldn’t actually _really_ be happening. 

“I uh, just need to let my… my roommate know I won’t be home. They worry, you know?”

Deadpool’s eyes met his. “Do they know about—” his head nodded down to the Spider emblem on Peter’s chest. 

“Me being Spider-Man? Yes.”

The only reply was the nod of Deadpool’s head as he finished up with the front of his shoulder, and worked his way to patching up the back. It was uncomfortable, the press of the bandage and the tape, but the pain was tolerable in his shoulder, and his thigh was feeling marginally better as well. 

Even still, webbing home would be near impossible tonight. He’d have to accept Deadpool’s offer unless he wanted to reopen his wounds. 

The thought repeated itself in his mind. 

He was about to have a sleepover with _Deadpool_.

How in the world had this ended up happening? 

Ned was right, his plan had not gone well. He hadn’t received his sample, he got _shot_ , and after the cab ride, and his reaction to Deadpool _now_ as he crouched over him, Peter was more confused than ever. 

He was torn between letting the science part of his brain take over, or just succumb to the impulsive of his brain screaming _screw it_.

The rational science part of him was convinced there had to be some sort of reaction between Peter’s radioactive genes and Deadpool’s mutated ones. It just made sense! But the other part of him said to hell with science, he wanted to find out how soft Deadpool’s lips were against his own; wanted him to reach up and run a hand along marred skin to see if it was as rough as it looked, or if it would surprise him, perhaps feeling smooth like aged scars normally did. 

Deadpool finished up, giving the tape one last pat to make sure it was secure before moving back. He was half bent over Peter, and heart racing, Peter grabbed at his arm before he could stand up fully. 

“Thanks, Deadpool,” Peter surged forward boldly, a little too quickly from nerves, to plant a kiss on his scarred cheek. 

His lips had darted in and away before Deadpool could react but Peter catalogued every second of it. Deadpool’s skin felt textured, sure, but not rough. It was softer than he anticipated, and rather warm. It felt like sparks shooting in his veins at the touch of their skin, and Peter craved more. Deadpool seemed frozen to the spot, and Peter wanted to lean in to do it again, although with an entirely different destination in mind. Yet when he swayed forward, drunk on the exhilaration of what he was about to do, Deadpool stood up abruptly. 

“You’re welcome, baby boy.” Deadpool’s voice sounded fond, if a tad strained, and for a split second Peter felt fingers trail from his shoulder to his collarbone almost longingly before disappearing. 

“I’ll give you some privacy to call that roomie of yours.” With that he was collecting the first aid kit, making his way out of the room, and back down the hallway.

Disappointment, arousal, and a dash of embarrassment twisted in Peter’s stomach as he heard the retreat of heavy footsteps.


End file.
